


Of Flowers and Piercings [HIATUS]

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Biphobia, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Closeted Character, Coming Out, First Time, Hand Jobs, Innocent Niall, M/M, Minor Bullying, Piercings, Punk Zayn, Rimming, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[HIATUS]</p><p>It's always been so easy for Niall to love people, and for some reason, even the broodiest and quietest can't not feel the same way, can't resist his wonky teeth and eager grin.</p><p>Zayn is no exception, and so the two begin trying to figure each other out, middle fingers raised to anyone who tells Niall, "No, not Zayn, he's a menace, he's bad, you can do better," and others who tell Zayn, "What a dork, can't believe you're fucking him, he's such a loser, <i>you can do better</i>."</p><hr/><p>
  <a href="http://camonialle.tumblr.com/post/67838378961/1dgaysmut-poundingziall-but-also-imagine">Based on this post.</a>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Harry Met Louis

**Author's Note:**

> Updating when I can :]
> 
> Please let me know if there are errors, though there shouldn't be because I've gone over it quite a few times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 1D Day from NZ!
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

Niall’s a pretty good boy, all things considered. He’s never taken up any of the lads’ offers in the car park after school for a fag or a spliff. He takes care of girls at parties, makes sure they don’t go home with a guy five years their senior totally smashed and out of it, and never accepts their drunken offers of a thank-you gobbie. And, yeah, okay, he doesn’t study for more than two extra hours (a week) (which he probably should) and has a pint frequently with Greg or Harry, but, like, that’s nothing _bad_.

He just…

He didn’t want to say that, yeah, he likes the girls and their short dresses and the way their arses look in skirts and sway when they walk like they know how to hurt him the worst, but that he could say the same for guys if they’re wearing the right jeans. He didn’t think his mates would—or _could_ —understand. Most people don’t.

But it’s true.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

It starts with a boy who can’t keep his gob shut.

Louis Tomlinson is in Niall’s English class, repeating the year and studying performing arts subjects. He smells pretty good for someone who goes off-ground for a smoke in his free time. And he’s clever, too, has all these views and perspectives on shit that Niall’d never thought about until he met Louis.

They start sitting together when Louis gets moved away from Michael and Luke (also held back) for talking too much and being a general nuisance to anyone whose intentions are to actually work in class time. At first, he’s right pissed off, won’t stop rolling his eyes at things that Niall says, but one day, he stops. He gets very quiet. At the end of English Louis taps Niall’s shoulder with the back of his index and middle finger, says, “Sorry I’ve been such a twat. You’re alright, really.”

From then on, they’re not quite friends, but they have a good laugh and do a half-nod to one another in the hallways, and sometimes they study in the library together and talk about football.

It’s a start.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Louis' got a mate, Liam, who waits outside on Thursdays when they have English before lunch. Liam is fucking buff, nearly makes Niall drool when he’s in vest tops on the rare nice day. Seeming a lot more clean-cut than Louis and a fair bit butcher, Liam’s taking PE and some sciences that always sound like Chinese to Niall. Sometimes Louis likes to swat Liam’s arse, and Liam always, _always_ jumps. His eyes dart around, whole stance softening when they land on Louis.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed,” Louis tuts with his brows scrunched in disbelief while the two walk through the hallway. He turns to Niall—who’s lagging back behind them—and says, “Can you believe him? Seriously, look at me. I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Don’t answer that,” Liam sighs. “You’re going to become either the brunt of his aggression or, worse, his new best friend.”

Louis throws his arms up; “Why am I even friends with _you_? You know what?” Pouting far more than Niall considers is a healthy dosage for the average human being, Louis slows his steps, slinging an arm over Niall’s budgy shoulders. Louis is short, petite, a “power bottom” (Louis’ words) and just about eye-to-eye with Niall. Nothing impressive in height, really. “Niall _will_ be my new best friend. How about it, Nialler?”

(“ _Nialler_?” Liam repeats in bewilderment.)

“Flattering, mate, really,” Niall laughs, albeit a nervous tinge to it.

A light shrug raises Louis’ shoulders. “No bother, no bother, just happy to grace more with my presence. We’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde, me ’nd you.” Niall can practically see the light bulb burst into life above his head. “Hey, aren’t you friends with Curly?”

“Who?”

Liam peers back at them over his shoulder.

“Harry Styles,” he provides.

Louis snaps his fingers. “That one. He’s like a little Mick Jagger. Wouldn’t mind a blowie from him.”

“Louis!” hisses Liam, steps hesitating to let the other two catch up. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You’ve talked about _us_?” asks Niall.

They’re nearly outside, Niall realises. He wonders if they’ll ask him to sit with them, but that seems silly.

“Liam has this weird theory that everyone is straight until it’s said otherwise,” Louis answers instead. “So is Harry doing this whole heterosexual shit, or is he a bit freer?”

Niall grins what he knows is a crooked grin, stupid wonky teeth on display. “I think he’s in your boat, Louis.”

“Bloody hell, really?” Even Louis looks a bit surprised. “Ha! Told you, Payno! Gaydar all the way!”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

And that’s how Niall scores himself seats with kids in the year above for himself and Harry.

“Honest-to-God, Lou, I swear,” Harry’s saying, eyes wide. He’s smiling in a blushy sort of way, the kind that sparked Niall’s first crush on his best friend in their first year together. His mouth forms words but the corners always stay perked up, tinting dimples into his cheeks. Now he’s using it on Louis—“ _Lou_?” Liam mouths to himself, which he seems to do a lot—to ease along his story. Louis lets the words travel through him as easily as breathing, eyes softer than Niall’s ever seen them in all of their English periods together, chin cradled in his palm, elbow on the table. He looks smitten, to be frank.

“I’m going to go and get a Coke,” Harry says once he’s finished his sandwich, looking hopefully to Louis. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, love, I’m alright with my juice,” Louis insists with a wave of his hand. Harry looks disappointed but tucks his wallet into his back pocket and heads off for the canteen.

“If Zayn could see you now,” Liam mutters.

Louis attempts to lick the smile off his own lips and fails. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies with a cheeky glance to Niall. Is this it, then? Is he allowed inside these jokes and teases? “Just making new friends.”

“I can practically hear you purring,” Niall snickers, earning himself an agreeing snort from Liam. “But Harry seems to like you a lot, so it’s okay.”

Letting a smug air wash through his every pore, Louis takes another forkful of pasta.

“You’re not going to dick him about, are you?” Niall asks as Louis swallows. “I get it, he’s pretty good looking, but it wouldn’t be right, ’cause he’s my friend, y’know? You don’t really just want a gobbie from him, right?”

Louis looks a bit appalled. Suddenly Niall wonders if that was too far, but he genuinely wants to know. He has no idea what the rules are, he realises. Then there’s a hand on his and it’s Louis’.

“I get it, Niall. There are lots of people out there who’d love to have a fit young lad trailing behind them, and I’m not one. I promise I’d never do that.” He nudges his gaze over to Liam. “Ask this sad sod, and he’ll tell you the same thing.”

Niall’s attention drifts to Liam, who nods. “It’s sickening, if I’m honest. All flowers and kisses and phone calls when they’re ill,” Liam drawls, looking to the sky and shaking his head. His eyes fall back to a very pleased Louis. “Happy, Niall? Louis’ about to get crushed by his own bloated ego thanks to you.”

Harry comes back with a Coke for Louis, saying that the machine gave him two.

Harry’s an awful liar.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.04pm: _So what’s Harry’s deal??_

If it’d been up to Niall (which it most definitely isn’t) then Louis would’ve gotten a pretty standard name in his phone, but, as mentioned, it isn’t his call, apparently.

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.06pm: _Wat do u mean_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.07pm: _Does he have a boyfriend? Is he a weirdo? Has he taken an abstinence oath?_

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.07pm: _No yes hahaha dfntly no. Y?_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.09pm: _Because I may or may not want to buy him chocolates and feed him them beneath the light of the moon on a sweet summer night??_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.09pm: _And snog him senseless after until we both taste like chocolate ;) ;)_

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.10pm: _EWWW thats my best friend ur talking about groooss_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.11pm: _BRB getting popcorn._

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.14pm: _Back. Has he said anything about me?_

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.15pm: _That ur fucking annoying_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.17pm: _…_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.17pm: _Really?_

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.20pm: _No._

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.21pm: _Wat do u think of him?_

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.25pm: _Lovely lad, really pretty, really funny, full of life, want to take him on a date and ride his dick TBH._

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.26pm: _HE IS LIKE MY BROTHER OMG THATS DISGUSTING. GOOD NIGHT._

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

It pretty much continues like that—all sexual tension and no action and _no fucking attempt to hide it_ —until everybody wants to punch them in their faces. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“What the bloody fuck was Shakespeare _on_?”

Niall rubs his fingertip against the mousepad, a shaky whir rumbling from the creaky old laptop, since his one’s getting repaired after a nasty virus wreaked havoc on its system. He waits for Explorer— _Explorer!!!_ —to come out from the dusty hole it was unearthed from. He mumbles as he types, huffing when the page freezes twice before results pop up.

“Weed and coke,” Niall replies.

Louis drops his pen. “For real?” he exclaims. “Click the link.”

“I have.”

“Well, click it _again_.”

“Louis,” Liam says warningly.

Pulling a face, Louis backs away from the laptop— _Error: Restarting Windows_ —grumbling because he’s got ants in his pants 24/7 and can’t bloody well sit still if he’s not staring at Harry like he wants to eat him.

“Where’s Hazza?”

Liam glances at his phone.

“Twelve minutes,” he announces, disappointed.

“That’ll be five quid, Payno,” Niall grins, corners of his lips tugging higher into his cheeks as Liam digs his wallet out, leafing through notes until he produces an unbelievably uncrinkled fiver.

“A new record, though.”

“Fuck _off_ ,” Louis groans.

“He’s getting a haircut. Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe half an hour?” Niall guesses. Liam nods, patting his friend on the back sympathetically and giving the perfect angle for Niall to gaze longingly at the bulge of his bicep. Jesus Christ. He tucks it away for later.

“If the hairdresser messes up his curls, I swear to God I will pluck out their nose hairs.”

Three smacks interrupt the frown forming on Liam’s pouty lips.

“Oi, someone open the door!”

Niall hops off the bed, accidentally nudging Louis’ book so that it nearly topples to the floor. Greg hits the door one more time with what sounds like his foot, the noise blunt and deep. He’s carrying two large packets of crisps in one hand and his girlfriend on his back.

“What’s this?” Niall asks, taking the bags anyway.

“Just a forewarning highly advising you to turn the telly up and not listen too carefully,” Greg shrugs, gesturing to Denise, who clips him playfully over the head for his indiscretion. “Cheers.”

“Ugh, no, gross,” Niall cringes, shutting the door as Greg reaches his free hand back, presumably for a grope. He shudders.

“Something not so different happened to Zayn with his sister,” Liam says thoughtfully. “He was moping about because of the Perrie thing and she didn’t know he was in.”

“Is she a screamer?” Louis crunches loudly on his crisps, not surprising Niall by going for the salt and vinegar ones first.

Liam grimaces. “For some weird reason, I didn’t ask.”

“Who’s Zayn?” Niall asks around his mouthful.

“Zayn Malik,” Liam offers.

“Has the biggest cock in the world?” Louis adds, like that should ring a bell.

Eyes tilting to the ceiling and plummeting down to the oldest boy, Liam exhales stiffly and with no subtlety whatsoever.

Sensing the skepticism, Louis’ gaze snaps onto him. “I’ve heard that your dick gets bigger the more you use it, Lima,” Louis states, “and Zayn _definitely_ uses his.”

Liam snorts. “That’s bullshit.”

A tight-lipped smile that clearly screams _you are wrong so shut your face oh my god you’re embarrassing yourself_ accompanies the incredulous blinking thing and eyebrow raise that Louis does when someone says something stupid.

“Have you _seen_ Zayn’s cock, Liam?” he asks.

Of course, Liam says, “No.”

“Well, then,” Louis says, which is apparently enough scientific evidence to prove that he’s right but also—and probably more importantly, Niall thinks—that Liam is wrong. With a rhythm of distinctive knocking going on next door, the boys grab their crisps, a football, and a massive bottle of Coke that Liam pulls out of his bag, and head outside.


	2. Louis Talks a Lot About Your Cock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So this one's a bit short, but that's mostly because I felt that this is where best to finish it.
> 
> As with last time, betas don't always catch everything, so if there's a typo please let me know in the comments. Thanks!
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

“I know that you saw him first, Niall, but about Louis…”

They’ve managed to withdraw from the kindness of Anne’s smiles and the wrath of Gemma’s sass, tangled between the bed and the TV by duvets that have been folded in the linen cupboard all day. Niall feels his eyes flicker forward from where they’ve rolled back in the warmth. Harry’s set Fifa on pause, shaking his hair loose and pinching it carefully to the side.

“I like him,” he confesses like it’s a big fucking secret and nobody saw it coming. “I think I’m gonna ask him out. Would he say yes, d’you think?”

“ _I_ saw him first? Wassat supposed to mean?” Niall snorts. “I don’t like Louis, you dick.”

“Well, um, I don’t know,” Harry blushes. “He has a nice bum, doesn’t he? You like that.”

There’s no arguing with him, since Liam got Louis back for the countless slaps with his own hard spank after the football game, and Niall only wished he’d caught the honest-to-God _bounce_ of Louis’ arse on film. He’d settled for camboys on his laptop at two in the morning instead, which were pretty much the same, if just a bit more naked. Niall likes a good arse.

“Whether or not I have a crush on someone doesn’t revolve completely around their backside,” he grumbles.

“Louis says you might be interested in a guy called Zayn.” Harry says it in an unsettling tone, all carefully carefree like it’s no big deal. “He does art, um, like the walls in the art department hallways? He did those. He’s supposed to be very pretty.”

Niall amends the image he had of Mystery Zayn to accommodate this new information, touching up what he’d thought would be surfer-style good looks to meek and short and a bit dorky. He doesn’t mention the tiniest tweak of a crush that’s blooming for Liam—straight, sweetly oblivious Liam—because at least Harry has a chance with Louis, and Niall maybe has a chance with this Zayn boy.

“When are you going to ask Louis out?” he asks.

Harry shrugs, putting on his thinking face and eating a cube of apple from the plate that Anne brought up. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

“So I’ll bring a tissue box to school, then?”

The smile on Harry’s lips twitches, frown hinting at the corners.

“Would he say no? I think he really likes me, and you said, like, in the texts, that he wants to feed me chocolate and, um, ride me.” The last little bit is hurried (for Harry, at least, so really it’s a little jog by normal people standards) with a swift blush tinting right to the tips of his ears.

“Bro, just go for it,” Niall urges him. Harry chews thoughtfully as they play, but they’re both distracted and weak.

“Okay, yeah,” Harry nods after a while, pumped. “I’ll ask him out tomorrow, after school.”

Niall crams more food into his mouth and listens to how beautiful Louis is, how lovely his lips are, the way his hair looks after practice, the way it flicked up from under the rim of Harry’s beanie when Louis got too cold on the way to his car.

“He’s really lovely, isn’t he? He’ll be a good boyfriend, I think.”

Humming in agreement, Niall packs up his school bag and Harry’s car keys, tossing them to him as they make their way down the stairs.

“Bye, Anne! See you later!” he calls, to which Anne insists that he should definitely come back soon.

“I’ve been seeing an awful lot of _Louis_ ,” she says. Harry turns pink. “Louis this, Louis that.”

“Aw, lover boy,” Niall grins.

Harry just gives a shrug and continues with his monologue on how great the Amazing Louis is.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Amongst Harry’s jitters— _“What if he says no? What then?” “Do you think I should ask him out to dinner or coffee?” “I’m scared, Niall.”_ —he’s still managing to fawn spectacularly well over every breath Louis takes. Liam does his big bright smile that lights up the universe and only asks once when _Lewis_ and _Harreh_ are going to get married, and if he should buy a tuxedo in the next few weeks.

“Maybe I’ll, um, ask him on Friday, so if he says no I don’t have to see him for the weekend, right?” Harry smiles nervously, swinging his arm back and forth at Louis as he’s waved over to the car.

“Or you could stop being such a sad fuckwit and realise that he’s about two muscle twitches off of, like, making love to you every time you guys have a conversation,” Niall replies. Liam falls into step with them, purposefully going out of his way to stomp on the crunchier leaves.

“Is this Louis we’re talking about?” he asks.

Eyes shooting open, Harry throws up his arms.

“You _told_ him? Niall!”

“I can literally smell it on you, babe,” Liam interjects, stepping behind Niall to sniff Harry, picking apart the individual scents. “Louis, parsley, and… Is that perfume?”

“It’s cologne!” Harry insists weakly.

Liam inhales again. “No, it’s not. Danielle used to wear the same one.”

Harry turns very, very red, like a traffic light telling them to stop. His fists fall to the pockets of his jumper—one that Louis likes, of course—and he mumbles, “Gemma said he’d like it.”

A bark of laughter yanks itself from Niall, which quickly cools into a teasing smirk. “Isn’t Gemma gay?”

With that, Liam’s off, giggling fondly as a look of panic locks up Harry’s body. He’s always like this, Niall knows, when he likes someone. Everything has to be perfect. It takes every ounce of muscle from Niall and a firm hand from Liam to steer the poor boy on the right path, where Louis says, “Took you bloody long enough.” Then, as Harry leans against his car, “You smell good, Curly.”

Despite the horrendous hassle just seconds beforehand, Harry beams.

“I’ve got to go past Niall’s on the way to my auntie’s place, so I’ll drive him home,” Liam says, pulling out his Batman keychain.

“Nuh-uh, Lima – we have a surprise guest,” Louis announces in his best gameshow-host voice, lifting an imaginary microphone. “Sexy assistant, please read out the name.”

They all waver, looking around. There aren’t many people in the student lot since Harry took just under a millennium getting his hair spot-on, although Niall isn’t seeing much of a difference. While Niall and Liam search the sparse dots of people for a new face, Harry gazes with a sickening amount of love at the boy still clutching his hand around nothing, mouth open.

“You look like you’re about to suck someone off,” Niall snorts.

“Harry, _read the name_ ,” Louis huffs, to which he gets a confused scrunch screwing tightly between Harry’s brows. “Oh, for God’s sake. Give me your phone.”

Niall can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for Harry, who fumbles hastily into his trouser’s bum pocket to fish it out, because being in love also makes Harry stupid. Louis especially, because he’s older and it’s all a bit new for Harry to be both younger _and_ less experienced. No wonder he’s so worried.

Louis hands it back to him with a look on his face that conveys both exasperation and the kindness one would offer a puppy who’s tripped over its own oversized paws. Niall wonders how they manage to do that, just _find_ each other purely because Louis was such a chatterbox in English and become an instant _thing_ , both falling in love as quickly as the other.

It’s all just a bit unfair, if he’s honest.

“From _Tommo the Tease_ ,” Harry reads, trying to sound excited to match Louis’ tone, “ _Zayn’s here!_ ” He looks up. “Zayn!”

“Zayn’s here?” Liam exclaims. “Is he really? You better not be having us on, Tommo.”

“Calm your tits, Payno. He’s here.” Louis flicks his fringe away from the strengthening breeze. “He just went to the loo.”

“What colour’s his hair?” Liam asks, which to Niall seems like a strange question to ask. Surely Liam would know his best mate’s hair colour.

Louis mimes zipping his lips, leaning next to Harry so that their arms touch.

Giving a frustrated sigh, Liam tips onto his heels, fidgety from the moment Harry said Mystery Zayn’s name. If Harry and Louis are trying to set him up with some weirdo, Niall thinks bitterly, he’s going to have Liam run them off the road. On second thought, Liam probably wouldn’t dare give in to such a plan lest Louis survive and construct Saw-like revenge, so maybe he’d just have to settle for deleting all of Harry’s porn instead.

Resuming his role as Centre of the Universe, Louis revives the gameshow-host persona. “In other news, for my English exam, I got, drumroll please,” to which he gets tapping on both his and Liam’s car, “a _pretty good grade_ ,” and leaves the microphone hanging there, grin gaping as he awaits applause that isn’t coming.

“You look like you’re taking a cock, Louis,” someone calls from the other side of Liam’s car.

Wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, Liam rushes round to embrace the stranger, while Niall reevaluates every single one of his decisions, starting with the tacky shirt he chose that morning.

Because Zayn— wow. He’s pretty. He literally looks like a model, and there’s a flare of soft violet swirled into his hair at the front, and he’s wearing _real leather_. Niall nearly looks to his shoes, but Liam’s already there.

“Spikes? Really?” he sniffs.

Zayn’s eyes narrow in on Liam. “D’you have a problem with them, mate?”

In a whiplash of expressions, they’re laughing and hugging, a perfect distraction from the little whispers going on against the boot of Louis’ car.

“Who’re these people?” Zayn asks. He sounds a bit like a more ethnic than Louis, like the guy who runs the corner shop just down from Niall’s mum’s place. Louis said that they’re both from Yorkshire, and Niall finds himself wondering if Yorkshire’s just a home for pretty people. “ _Loueh_ , is he your boyfriend?”

Louis shakes his head. “Husband. We had a Vegas wedding. Very posh. Minister was only one wine in.”

Zayn nods, arm still curved easily over Liam’s massive shoulders as he pulls a carton of smokes from his pocket.

“I thought you quit,” Liam chastises.

“I have!” Zayn insists. “Was looking for my lighter.”

“Why?”

“Because the smell of bullshit is so strong that I think I may be able to blow up the school.”

Liam licks a sneaky grin off his own lips while a proud one cocks on Zayn’s, framed nicely with the slant of his cheekbones. Even Niall chokes out a laugh at the intense glare shot Zayn’s way.

“Who was your best man?” Zayn asks innocently.

“Lima Bean,” Louis retorts, fighting for his ground.

“Well, I know _that’s_ a load of shit.” He pats Liam’s shoulder—well-rounded even under his big hoodie—and gives him an apologetic look. “Poor Lima wouldn’t know how to throw a Stag party to save his life. He’d have, like, pass the parcel ’nd shit. Pin the tail on the donkey.”

Harry seems slightly alarmed at this exchange, eyes dashing to Niall every now and again. Zayn brings out this new, intense kind of aggression from Louis, but Niall’s not about to let stupid play-fighting get in Harry’s way.

Zayn lets one last smirk graze his lips before turning away from Louis.

“So you’re Harry, and you’re…?”

“Pale,” Louis offers, at the same time as Liam says, “Niall.”

“’lo,” Niall grins, a bit croaky. He clears his throat. “Louis talks a lot about your cock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the use of the word "ethnic" and the corner shop comment, see [here](http://wantdeniallinme.tumblr.com/post/73593125853/hi-i-really-love-your-writing-and-your-new-story-buttumblr)!
> 
> TL;DR: Basically, in the part of Scotland my parents are from, corner shop applies to a wide range of shops, not necessarily just mini supermarkets.


	3. Energizer Bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going camping w/ my friends in two days and I'm deeply concerned that something hilarious/amazing will happen with the boys while I'm away.
> 
> First world problems.
> 
> Once again, please comment with any errors. There shouldn't be, **but if there are** I will be really embarrassed but I'd still appreciate it :]
> 
> (Niall's hair on SNL omg I died.)
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

The first week with Zayn is the hardest. The sun’s glowing devastatingly brightly the next day, and Niall will eat nails before he admits how much time he spends narrowing in on Zayn’s collarbones while the lad skateboards up and down the ramp with Louis.

They’re not really _supposed_ to be off school property, but Zayn’s interests don’t lie in the rules as much as they do in the desire to break them, and Louis’ pretty much the same. There’s a course about ten minutes off the grounds, with a flat area (for those less eager to break their necks) and a half-pipe. Zayn swoops up and skims the board against the metal rim before flipping around and diving down again, looking the part in his skinny jeans and vest-top. He’s not bulk like Liam. Zayn has wiry muscles and a tiny waist, a sleeve of tattoos wrapped tightly around his right arm. They’ve all got a study period and from the looks of things nobody’s about to leave for last but Niall’s not about to complain.

“It’s too bloody warm for this. I need a drink.”

Exhausted, Louis sprawls out beside Harry on the grass, drawing away the younger lad’s attention immediately in favour of grinning at Louis. Niall figures that it’s his cue to give them their privacy and calls out to Zayn to stop.

Jogging halfway up one side, Niall bites his bottom lip and sprints, climbing until he can sling himself over the edge and onto the flat as Zayn starts again, doing the occasional trick. Harry’s leaning over Louis and Louis is stroking Harry’s back, presumably having a snog. It’s a bit weird, because Harry’s not told Niall about the asking-out thing at all, just confirming that it happened and that Louis indeed said yes. He said he’d come over on Tuesday and spill all.

“Warm today,” Zayn comments off-handedly as he sits, letting his board roll back and forth in the pipe until it loses momentum and comes to a lazy halt. He crosses his arms and grips the edge of his top. “D’you mind?”

“No, go ahead,” Niall says, looking away to grant Zayn a bit of modesty.

When his gaze goes back to him, Niall sees that Zayn has more tattoos that he’d thought. The wings branching out gracefully from a pair of crimson lips peeking from the neckline of his vest had Niall wondering what else he’d hidden beneath his clothing, and he’s not disappointed. There’s a heart on his hip and some writing on the other, but it’s too close to Zayn’s crotch for Niall to get a good look.

“So v’ass ’appenin’ with Louis and Harry?”

Niall’s eyes linger on the two for a second. They’re not kissing anymore, but they’re close, grinning and talking and smiling at each other, Louis’ hand in Harry’s hair.

“Louis thought he was nice looking and we sat with them at lunch, and they’ve just been like this the entire time.” Niall swallows. “I mean, they didn’t kiss before, but they were inseparable.”

Zayn’s eyes stay shut. He has this bar stabbed through the fleshy bit of his eyebrow that catches the sun. “When was that?” 

“A couple of months ago,” Niall replies, lying back beside Zayn and tipping his snapback forward. “Where’ve you been, then?”

“Family stuff,” Zayn answers quietly. 

They leave it at that, and Niall can feel his legs baking in his trousers but doesn’t move to shade.

That’s pretty much what the whole week is; unseasonably nice weather and more inappropriate boners popping up here and there than he’s used to.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Harry doesn’t come over on Tuesday.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 3:40pm: _Niall you little shit. Zayn is STILL texting me about his naughty bits. This is all YOUR fault._

“That Louis?”

Niall peers up from his phone, where two new text alerts spark up the screen. From here, he can see the speckles of silver threaded through Zayn’s ear from shell to lobe. A big, black stretcher (or is it a plug? Niall doesn’t know much about piercings) breaks the pattern, and when he turns to Niall, he can see the word _ZAP_ splashed across it, matching Zayn’s tattoo.

“Yeah. He says I’m a little shit.”

After Niall’s daring attempt at a good first impression, Zayn had found that every excuse to work his apparently massive dick under Louis’ nerves. Niall could see Harry bristle at the slight implications buried under each teasing bullet, like there’s something _there_ , and it’d probably driving him crazy if he didn’t spend all day wrapped up in Louis’ mouth.

“I’ll text him back,” Zayn grins, gesturing for Niall’s phone. Niall can see a bit of eyeliner, maybe, pressed neatly against the edge of Zayn’s lashes, which remind Niall of butterfly wings when Zayn blinks.

Zayn taps something out while Liam tries to see what it says and keep his eyes on the road at the same time, mostly failing because he’s so road-conscious. He gasps, though, after a quick glance at a red light.

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 3:43pm: _Why dont u replace the stick up ur arse w somefin else? ;) ;)_

Niall can hardly believe what he’s reading before a new message pops up.

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 3:44pm: _Maybe I will, now that I’m waiting outside Harry’s house. I bet he’s got a really thick cock, perfect for stretching me out. He’s probably loud in bed but tries his hardest to be quiet. God, I’m gonna come on his face first chance I get._

And that’s enough of that for the day. Niall puts away his phone.

“Zayn and I are going to watch a film at my auntie’s,” Liam says. “Do you want to come over?”

If only because it means spending an evening with two incredibly fit lads, Niall nods eagerly, considers flicking Harry a text. He’s probably with Louis, or he would’ve called already with some goss, hyped and giggly and eager, since he’s finally decided to let Niall in on all the dirty details after a quick hint from Liam. Niall supposes that it _is_ all pretty nice that Harry nearly has a boyfriend. Maybe they’re having a snog in Louis’ car.

“Why are you at your auntie’s?” he asks instead of voicing his thoughts.

“She’s out of town and needs someone to feed the plants.”

Zayn nods. “Her place is _sick_. Massive TV, amazing surround sound, comfy chairs, the lot.”

“She goes up to Scotland with her boyfriend once a month to visit his family,” Liam explains. “Usually it’s just on weekends, but it’s his cousin’s wedding, so they’ve taken a couple of extra days.”

They pull up into a neat little road, with several apartment buildings stacked up against one another. Liam unlocks the front door and starts jogging upstairs, leaving Zayn and Niall to trail behind.

“He’s like the bloody Energizer Bunny,” Niall snickers. “We should get him rabbit ears for Halloween.”

“Put him in a pink mankini and he could be a PlayBoy bunny instead.”

“Oi, if you two are ready to move faster than snails then maybe we can get the movie started _this year_!” Liam calls from about three floors up.

“Heh. Sniall,” Zayn grins, picking up the pace and two-stepping.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

To say that her flat is amazing is a severe understatement.

It’s stylised but not in the kind of way that makes Niall afraid to touch, lest his fingerprints ruin the entire layout. It’s homey. Lived-in. The carpet is cushion-soft under his socks, framed by brick walls and tall windows, and it’s all just really lovely.

“Uh, kitchen’s through there. She’s loaded so eat whatever you want,” Liam says, then points to a small hallway that leads to a single door, “and that’s the cinema. Do you want something? There’s chocolate, crisps, and a popcorn machine. Just about anything, really.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve seen how much Niall eats,” as he says it, Zayn smirks like the awe’s all over Niall’s face; it probably is.

His heartrate increases tenfold as he peers into the cupboards, so enthralled with the fucking _mountains’ worth_ of food that he doesn’t even notice Zayn’s hand on his waist, easing over him to grab a packet of beef jerky.

“Can I really eat whatever I want or is he just being polite?” Niall asks after swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Zayn nods, chewing. “Snacks are in the next cupboard over.”

The TV’s set up, the chairs are huge and plush, and there are sausage rolls in his belly. Niall thinks that maybe Liam had a car accident on the way home, and this is all a very vivid wet dream but Liam’s not even close to clumsy so probably not. He strokes his tummy a bit.

“I think I’m in love with your auntie,” he grins.

“What movie are we watching?” Zayn asks, tucking his knees up in his chair. The overhead projector spurs into life, a list of genres rolling out. “Ooh, do you have _Saw_? We love a good scare, don’t we, Lima Bean?”

Liam flushes pink at the nickname.

“Niall?” he asks, hovering over _S_.

Licking his lips, Niall weighs out his options as he snaps a row of chocolate off and hands it to Zayn, and another for Liam. He huffs, feigning annoyance. “Go for it.”

The first one’s not too bad, but Zayn makes it difficult to concentrate. He has this habit of launching his limbs out in bursts, latching onto Niall’s thigh to make him jump. He smirks every time and rubs where it’s sore as a silent apology, and it’s a bit much when all Zayn has to do is rub just a _bit_ higher…

Niall breathes carefully. He’s been semi-hard on and off for about forty minutes, tugging his jumper over his crotch and hiking his knees up in a buggered attempt to hide it when the lights slowly warm up at the movie’s end.

“Amazing, right?” Liam’s nearly bouncing, revved up as he stands. “Hey, d’you wanna stay the night? My auntie says I can have five friends over and there’s a big guest bedroom we can share. We could have a _Saw_ athon.”

Shifting as he realises that both boys are staring at him, Niall nods, “I’d love to, just leh’me text my dad.”

“Great. Are you alright to sleep in your boxers?” Liam thinks about it for a second. “Actually, there’s a drawer with some of my clothes in it. I’ve not updated the collection in a while, so there might be a pair of sweats that’ll fit you.” He goes off to investigate, humming to himself. If nothing else, at least Liam can be relied on for pretty much everything.

“Hey, check this out,” Zayn grins. Niall’s noticed that he slips into his Pakistani accent when he’s excited, like now as he pushes a button on the arm of his chair so that the foot rises carefully, smug smile beaming at Niall. “Try it.”

“Um.”

Zayn’s in his stupidly tight trousers again, and that combined with the near-constant grabbing hasn’t done a thing to ease Niall’s cock into softness. The golden lights do the devil’s work on his skin, the fine shadows of his eyelashes fanning over the wings of his cheekbones, and it should be illegal for someone to be so pretty because it’s fucking unfair just how perfect he is.

Niall tucks his knees to his chest, curling in on the stiffness pressing hard and hot against the fabric. A wash of sickening embarrassment floods him when Zayn catches on.

“Oh,” he says quietly, leaning away. “Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Niall nods, biting his lip.

The humiliation’s enough to calm him down in no time, grabbing the sweats that Liam offers and heading off to the bathroom where he pulls off—quickly, with blurring, practiced movements tipping him over the edge in about a minute—before hastily changing, clumsy still from coming but relieved nonetheless.

Zayn will be the death of him, Niall’s sure.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Liam’s out of it the moment his head hits the pillow, blissfully gone from the day’s efforts.

“He goes for a run at six in the morning _every fucking day_ ,” Zayn whispers, pulling out a few of his piercings. Niall nods as he watches each one thread out from his skin and get placed in an empty Vaseline jar. “He’s good, though, like, he’ll leave quietly.”

“No wonder he’s so tired, then,” Niall grins as he tucks himself in. It’s a bloody huge room, and due to the aforementioned run, Zayn opted to share a bed with Niall. Niall’s not one hundred percent certain as to how his dick’s going to react come morning but he has a pretty good idea.

The conversation wavers and trails, because Zayn made this really good curry that had Liam near tears while Niall went for seconds (and thirds) and his full belly wants to sleep it off. His eyelids are concrete slabs and Zayn’s voice is smooth velvet, making it difficult to remember why he’s trying so hard to stay awake.

“You tired?” Zayn finally asks.

“Mm,” Niall hums, eyeballs stinging with the effort to see Zayn’s fond smile in the dark.

“Alright. Liam’ll wake us up at, like, ten, and he has the keys for the apartment’s field, so maybe some football in the morning.”

Niall rummages in his bag where it’s slung over the bedpost, sucking a quick puff from his inhaler before settling down again, knowing that Zayn’s watching him curiously.

“So you won’t die in your sleep?” he guesses jokingly, but Niall just shrugs.

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh.”

Niall swallows a hefty yawn though exhaustion wets his eyes again, lying on his side while Zayn stares half-lidded at the ceiling. “You should show me your art, s’mtime,” he says quietly. “Louis says it’s really good.”

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn agrees, scratching at his jaw, “and you should sing for me.”

“Alright,” Niall echoes, feeling cozy and light-headed with it.

“Go to sleep, for fuck’s sake,” Zayn snickers as Niall yawns loudly.

And that’s that.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The problem with Niall’s crush on Zayn is that it doesn’t build – it doesn’t slowly reveal itself and grow with each giggle and secret. It’s a hot burst of feeling that swells at random moments for no apparent reason. Like, his heart goes mental when Zayn _dances_ , and it’s not even real dancing. It’s some hip-thrusting and what looks like paddling a boat, and it’s worse when he gets shy and goes quiet but his _eyes_ , they’re so warm and bright.

He and Louis are psychos at best and chaos at worse, but it’s a bit difficult to remember that the Zayn who shoveled ice down his pants for a dare is the same Zayn who’s waiting for Niall outside the art rooms, nervous eyes flickering across the hallway. He’s got his glasses on, and his hair streak’s now dyed a lime-green that reminds Niall of the Joker from _Batman Returns_. Jesus, he’s so pretty.

“Alright?” Niall asks, tipping an eyebrow up at him.

Zayn nods, smiling but still quietly anxious as he gestures towards a door. He flicks a switch and one lightbulb’s burst so only half the room is lit, cold, grey glow of the sky filtering in through the slim windows lining the edge of the ceiling. Nearly every inch of every surface is littered with projects, some flat and drying whilst other stack tall and proud.

“Over here,” Zayn calls, drawing Niall away from a stunning painting of a beautiful girl with white hair tinged pink at the bottom, her face halved down the middle. The left is normal while the right has thick charcoal-black around the eyes and violet on her lips. He thinks that he knows her, and finds pressed neatly onto a pencil lying to the canvas’ side, _Perrie_. Niall turns around.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, looking over the entire wall dedicated to one student’s work. The paper is thick, textured, pinned down with magnets. A ladder stands to the side, where Niall sees a bed with big cartoon eyes under it that are shrouded in black. The whole thing is paneled like a comic, and in the next square, the eyes are on a monster with purple fur who slips out from under the bed, creeping through the bedroom door in the third box.

At the left of the second row, the monster pays a bus driver, getting off at a forest. The monster goes in, and the next panel is half-done.

“This’s mine.” Zayn swallows. “D’you like it?”

It’s bloody fantastic. Black outlines the shapes of drawings to come, showing similar-looking monsters in different colours dancing under raging lights, and the monster eventually tiptoeing back into bed before the little girl wakes up.

“This is sick, Zayn. Where did you learn to do this?” he asks, taking a closer look. Spraypaints sit in a box to the side along with sheets of paper filled with plans and drafts, and Niall can’t help but flick through them, gawking at the concepts before staring at the final copy again. “Seriously, this is amazing.”

“My sister’s really arty,” Zayn blushes. He pinches the bud of his left snakebite, twirling it as his eyes linger on Niall for a few seconds more.

“Is she the girl?” Niall asks, pointing at the first square.

Zayn shakes his head. “That’s my younger sister, Safaa. She was scared of monsters under the bed, so I told her that monsters live under the bed because it’s warm, and then at night, like, they party hard and come back in the morning to sleep.”

It’s a bit wounding that Louis thinks it’s a good idea to ruin Niall’s life in such a way, because that’s basically what he’s doing by setting him up with Zayn. The lad is absolutely perfect.

“Greg told me that monsters eat narks, so you’re one step up from him,” Niall grins. He can’t say that he’s ever been that into art, his heart always thrumming with music, but he can appreciate the quality in it.

Zayn plays with a Sharpie, clicking the cap on and off, face donning a pink glow across his cheeks and forehead with a smile tugging at his lips. “Sing f’me, now that you’ve seen it?”

Niall doesn’t hesitate. He’s not going to deafen anybody. “What song?”

“Um…” Zayn thinks about it as his gaze lifts from the floor, casting his eyes about. “That song you and Ed wrote for your assignment? _Little Things_? Harry’s been spouting wonders ’bout it.” He shrugs. “Just, y’know, like, that it was good.”

Turning away from Zayn’s drawing pad (brimming with even more stunning works), Niall coughs to clear his throat, hands slipping into his pockets. He hopes that it’s alright, because sometimes he’s a bit off or his voice breaks awkwardly, but he thinks it goes well through the verse, planning to finish at the end of the chorus.

Finding a place to look is probably the most difficult part; staring at Zayn is a bit strange because he’s maybe sort of crushing _hard_ and he doesn’t want to inflict that on Zayn in case he doesn’t feel the same way. Also, Zayn doesn’t know that he likes boys, and it’s all too difficult for Niall to concentrate on as he brings the chorus to a close.

Zayn looks positively captivated, mouth ajar, frozen on the chair. Niall grins bashfully, toes twitching in his shoes while Zayn gathers himself together and says, “You’re really, really good. C’mere.”

Grin still easy on his lips, Niall trots forward and lets Zayn ease him between his legs. Zayn’s eyelashes look even thicker from this angle, low over his eyes as his hands stray slightly from Niall’s hips to his chest and curl gently in his jumper. Heart pounding like static in his ears, Niall takes the hint and crouches so he’s just an inch shorter than Zayn. His own hands have spread on Zayn’s thighs for balance and he can’t question it, can’t ask what’s going on or crack a joke, can’t because Zayn’s leaning in and slotting his mouth softly, so fucking softly, against Niall’s.

He keeps it devastatingly short, like a trial kiss, before Zayn draws back. Niall doesn’t stand a hope in hell of keeping yet another grin off his face, this one broader and giddier against the flash of hot through his whole body.

“Really wanted to do that,” Zayn admits quietly.

“Yeah?” And his voice’s gone husky and strained, dear God.

“Definitely.”

Niall just can’t stop grinning.


	4. Tan, Green, and has a Nipple Piercing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping a week :/ Camping, Christmas, and new boyfriend all got the better of me.
> 
> Always thankful for corrections, but don't bother telling me it's Zayn, not Zain. Zain's his birthname and it made sense since Safaa's his sister.
> 
> Explanation: the first part with Seth and Josh were a personal note for me. As a girl who identifies as bisexual, I cop shit all the time not just from homophobics but also people within the LGBT community, too, for being "confused" and "greedy", or "faking it". People assume that I'm straight but will snog any girl in sight for a lad's attention or that I'm always up for a threesome.
> 
> Bisexual guys (or, at least, the ones I've talked to about this) have a similar but different problem; people label them "confused" and pin them to the G in LGBT, like they're just halfway out of the closet.
> 
> I think the worst part is that even some of those within the LGBT walls--those you should be able to trust, those you think would understand--are almost equally as cruel and judgmental. I wear my sexuality on my sleeve because luckily I live in a country where people under the umbrella have equal rights and there are almost no hate crimes so I have no reason to hide. It just hurts to be shot down and told that something so true to me isn't real.
> 
> (/rant)
> 
> Disclaimer: I would like to add that I do not think Seth nor Josh are biphobic at all, and their reactions were purely for plot.

Niall came out at fourteen to his friends, just Josh, Seth, and Harry.

“I think I am, too,” said Harry as the others went quiet.

“I think bisexual is just halfway to gay,” Josh added. “You can tell us if you’re gay, Niall. We don’t care.”

Shaking his head, Niall stopped shuffling the cards. “No, I like girls, but boys… I don’t know. I like both.”

“Boys can be fit, too,” Harry agreed eagerly.

The other two continued to hold a skeptical arch to their brows, which in itself wasn’t such a hurtful gesture but considering Niall just told them he was maybe a bit gay, he was hoping for more support.

“Isn’t being bisexual kinda… greedy?”

Niall’s gaze snapped up to Josh, who was staring intently at his own cards with unwavering eyes.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Harry frowned. “We can’t _choose_ who we like.”

“I dunno, mate,” Seth sighed, shaking his head. He dropped two cards into the pile. “Two Aces—”

“Bullshit.”

Seth scooped up the cards.

“Anyway, I think you should just pick one. Nobody’ll date a bisexual.”

And Niall prayed they didn’t hear him crying in the bathroom at one in the morning, but Harry came through and held him close and let Niall sob into his oversized night shirt, telling him it would be okay, it was going to be alright.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

They don’t talk to Seth and Josh as much anymore.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn comes to school with a massive grin on his face, and at first Niall returns it, but then Zayn and Louis are giggling at the lunch table as he walks over.

“Hey, Lima Bean,” Louis sing-songs, “what’s tan, green, and has a nipple piercing?”

Not a word’s been said from Zayn to Niall following the kiss other than normal chit-chat with the other lads. In all fairness, it’s only been a couple of days, yet it’s decades in Niall’s skull to overthink everything. For such a chill person, he’s finding it increasingly difficult to not spazz out and scream, “ _What the bloody hell is going on?_ ” and a whirlwind of cluttered worries are spiraling hectically on his tongue.

“Um—”

Zayn flips up his shirt to reveal a tiny silver bulb on either side of his nipple’s bud, bright and eager against his dark skin. The show has Niall a little bit hard and a _lot_ confused, because they kissed, they fucking _kissed_ , and that’s a big deal to him. He just wants to know what that means.

Niall’s eyes wonder anxiously across the table until they make the quick jump and try to catch Zayn’s, only to discover that Zayn isn’t ever looking back. Disappointed, Niall stirs his fork through his pasta—leftovers from the other night—and contemplates confronting Zayn. He abandons that idea quickly, visualising being laughed at. _What if_ s and general shit are beginning to feel too rubbish to handle.

“I might ask Sophia out,” Liam confesses, grinning nervously. “She’s really clever, um, and I fancy her, and Zayn’s been talking to her and she fancies me, so… Thoughts?”

“She’s got a nice bum,” Louis offers as the bell rings.

Face falling slightly, Liam turns his furrowed brow to the oldest of the bunch. “I meant advice.”

“I’m afraid that only Nialler can help you out here, and even that’s a bit sad considering his lack of lady lovin’,” Louis hums.

Already weak from trying so hard to get Zayn’s attention all day, Niall barely argues except for a, “Hey!” that comes off more offended than he’d meant it to. He just wants to curl up and sleep, wondering how far he’d go to fake being sick and get Greg to pick him up.

“And Harry’s not allowed to speak because he lost a bet. So, really, you’ve just got me and Zayn.”

“How am I supposed to get _any_ advice on girls if every single person in this world is gay?” huffs Liam as he grabs his bag.

“Oh, come on, Lili, that’s not true,” Louis coos. “We can tell you what’d get us eager for a shag, and if it doesn’t work out, you can join Harry and me. We’ll be, what’s the word, poly-something.” He looks to Zayn, who mouths the word back. “ _Polygamous_. It’ll be so much fun!”

“Being in a relationship with you does _not_ sound like fun. It sounds like impending jail time,” Liam tells him with a strange kind of smile, a fond little smirk to soften the blow.

To: Zayn — 12.32pm: _We shud talk or smthing._

Zayn barely spares a glance to his phone before tucking it back into his pocket, filling Niall with a sickening sense of dread. Did he do something wrong? Why doesn’t Zayn want him anymore?

 _Really wanted to do that_ , he’d said.

Niall burrows into his big hoodie and goes off to study, which mainly involves staring at books and feeling sorry for himself.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Niall, wait!”

Had Harry’s massive fingers not wrapped stubbornly around Niall’s thin wrist like a collar and lead, he wouldn’t have bothered listening. It’s like that one brush of mouth-on-mouth sucked out the plug on Niall’s lungs, letting his energy and general liveliness drain out, a bloodtrail left in his wake. Jesus. When did this become his life? Since when does he get kissed, let alone kissed _and_ left?

Harry and Louis make avoidance difficult, since they give such a credible illusion of being wrapped up in each other when really they’re aware of every twitch and word from the others. It’s about the single most frustrating thing, being dragged into Louis’ car and having Harry cuddle him in the backseat the whole way to his house like a doll and _enjoying_ being held and cared for.

“You’re a bit paler than usual, Nialler,” Louis says as he drives. “Maybe a big meal and a rest?”

“Yeah.” Attention isn’t exactly something he can spare right now; his skin feels dirty and sagged, eyelids weighted, muscles cold. If this is what every kiss is like, Niall would rather remain abstinent for life than go through it again. He’s not used to being unnoticed or ignored, and while Harry’s and Louis’ interest right now is a step up, he’d really like to sleep.

“We’ll come with you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” echoes Niall.

“Just like old times,” Harry grins, rubbing Niall’s shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Making their way up the stairs with a stash of crisps and sandwiches, Louis is weirdly quiet. The lack of noise is really appreciated if Niall’s honest, not awkward, just surprisingly calm. The easy buzz of not thinking takes over as he scoffs his way through two ham and cheese sandwiches, and some Hula Hoops. This is what he loves about Harry, that he can make Niall feel better without big bollocks words and shitty pieces of wisdom, like his presence is enough to make birds and bunnies and fawns appear like a fucking Disney movie. He’s just great like that.

Only one of them speak, and it’s Harry, saying, “Would you like to talk about this thing?”

Niall shakes his head, throwing back the covers from where they’ve been strewn from the morning, flopping off the side of his bed, and falls face-first into his pillow. Like he’s done time and time again for years, Harry cuddles up closely and with a bit of coaxing, Louis joins in on Niall’s other side, one boy’s hand going to his back and the other’s to his hair and lulling him off to sleep.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Finally Zayn pipes up, leaning coolly against Liam’s car with his eyebrows propped and voice curious. Niall glares back, because he’s never been at all subtle about his feelings, and he sees no reason to start now. He’s gone from mopey to grumpy as the week’s passed, and though the constant cuddles from Harry have helped cool it, he’s not one hundred percent over the whole thing.

“Are you cross with me?” As he asks, Zayn thumbs over the length of his lighter, watching Niall carefully.

Niall’s breath comes in a huff. “Probably.”

“Why?”

“Oh, piss off,” he grumbles, starting to stalk off in the direction of Liam’s class, determined not to blow up at Zayn. But… He’s genuinely _angry_ and his chest fucking _aches_ and his tongue is dry and chalky with how cross he is.

“Wait, Niall. Let me explain it,” Zayn sighs.

“I thought you liked me. _I_ liked _you_. Jesus Christ, I thought that you kissing me was some sort of, like, way of telling me that we could maybe _do_ something about it,” Niall growls. His own tone shocks him, all gravely and hurt. He doesn’t mean it to be; he wants it to be chilling and dark and brooding.

Really, he’s just a neat and tidy sunflower in his jeans and green IRELAND hoodie to Zayn’s stupid hair streak and stupid nail polish and his stupid jacket and stupid shoes that all make Niall’s tummy tingle strangely, like Pop Rocks are going off in his bloodstream.

“I thought that maybe you needed space to, like, figure stuff out.” Zayn scratches his wrist. “I didn’t want to smother you.”

“Figure _what_ out?” Niall exclaims.

“Like, your sexuality, I don’t know, just a couple of days to, like, sort through it without feeling obligated to whip around and snog me.”

Guilt whips icily in Niall’s belly as the pieces clatter into place at his feet, wincing visibly under Zayn’s pleading gaze.

“Zayn, I’m—”

“I mean _fuck_ , Niall, if the guy who’d kissed _me_ had given a bit of time for me to sort my shit then I probably would’ve kissed him _again_. I thought I was being all selfless ’nd shit.” He scrubs a hand through the stubble behind his ear. “I _do_ fancy you, and Louis said you might be interested but Harry… He said, like, he couldn’t say because it was a secret or som’ng.”

“I—“ Niall swallows. “I know what I am, Zayn. I’m bisexual. I’m just not, y’know, _out_.”

Zayn’s chewing his bottom lip all plump and red, and his eyes light up, gold-flecked hazel bright, eager. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And you ignored me, you dick,” he adds softly. “You didn’t even answer my texts.”

Zayn nods, “I know, I know. I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.” He seems more onto it now. “Who else knows about you?”

It’s not a very long list, if he’s honest. Seth and Josh put him off telling people, and he had whiskey at Christmas to thank for blurting the whole thing to his mum and Greg. “Um… Harry, my mum, my brother, and a couple of old mates.”

It’s an effort to not freeze or melt when Zayn takes Niall’s hand and holds it against the car, hidden from view, like it’s normal for them, like it’s something they _do_. _Fuck_. The sudden urge to say something stupid makes him clamp his mouth shut, and Zayn’s thumb rubs against his pinky, just once.

Niall attempts to pry his attention from Zayn, choosing instead to focus on other things – the pearly white clouds smudging into grey; a pretty girl in shorts on the other side of the car park; freshly mown grass from the football field. Soon enough, all he can concentrate on is the smell of Zayn’s body spray and the tender stroke of his fingertips against the back of Niall’s hand. They’ve got about four minutes until the others get out of class – less if they have a nice teacher like Ms. Teasdale, or Niall’s new Spanish teacher.

“’Cause, like, you’re not out, we could watch movies at mine, or we could go to the cinema if you’re feeling brave,” Zayn offers, then swallows. “I really do fancy you, but I didn’t want to scare you off, yeah?”

Tonguing at his left snakebite, Zayn watches Niall intently as the younger lad mimics the brief brush of his tongue on his bottom lip. It’s not on purpose. Despite everything flooding his system for days, now, all he can think about right now is kissing Zayn again (and again, and again) and the drag of his studs and rings on Niall’s lips.

“You won’t ignore me again?” he asks, for the first time moving his fingers under Zayn’s.

“I’ll never take my eyes off of you,” Zayn grins, turning Niall’s palm over. “Not for a second, ever, like, even when cops take me in for staring through your window at one in the morning.”

Niall snorts. “Yeah, alright. Movies at yours.”

Then Louis appears on Harry’s back, and somehow he’s roped Liam into carrying their bags.

“Forward, noble stead!”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall’s been to Zayn’s house once.

Liam let him in because Zayn was in the shower—an image Niall didn’t need on top of his crush that was already bursting at the seams—and they played videogames until Harry and Louis started snogging. It’s not posh but it’s better than Niall’s. The telly’s definitely bigger, allowing more close-ups of JLo’s bum on the music video playing as Zayn ushers him in.

“The plan’s to not let my sisters know you’re here until, like, dinner, ’cause they’ll _never_ leave us alone if they find you,” Zayn warns as he flicks through the DVDs.

“Aw, I’d love to meet them,” Niall grins.

“You will,” Zayn promises, “just… not _yet_. I want you to myself for a couple of hours, yeah?”

Images of Harry and Louis flash through his mind as Niall sits on the sofa, leaving his knees open until he thinks better of it.

“Have you seen _Zombieland_?”

“No. My brother has.” Niall rubs his heels into the carpet, trying to figure out how to sit. “So do your sisters bother you all the time? Are they annoying?”

“I love them, but yeah. Try having a sneaky wank when there’s always one clawing at your door. Fucking ridiculous.” He pulls the case out of the deck and a packet of crisps from behind the telly. “D’you want to watch it?”

“Sure.” Niall tucks his legs in as much as he can. He edges up to the arm as Zayn drops into the few cushions bunched up on the other side, arranging them with no particular care to get comfy.

Watching the movie and absolutely _not_ focusing on the finger-wide amount of space between their bodies is something else entirely, a whole new level of difficult. Zayn’s thigh is so close and the room is so cozy and Niall just wants to take off his hoodie, but he also wants to slump into Zayn and snuggle, Christ. His ears are hypersensitive to all the sounds within the four walls. Zayn swallows. Zayn tips his knee out.

“Y’alright?” he murmurs carefully. “You look hot.”

Niall aims for a grin, only it’s probably more of a grimace with how warm he is. “Aren’t I always?”

“Yeah, of course, but we have the heaters on since the girls get a bit cold in the evenings, and you’re a tad pink.” As he says this, he strokes from Niall’s temple to his jaw. “C’mon, I won’t bite.”

Zip pinched in his fingertips, Niall hastily rids himself of the extra layer, leaving it bundled in his lap. The room calms, becomes less suffocating, letting Niall stretch out. He plays it cool when his knee bumps against Zayn’s and he leaves it there.

As Columbus and Wichita are about to snog, Zayn’s arm straightens along the back of the sofa and falls limp there. It’s supposed to mean something, Niall thinks. He’s supposed to be gearing up for another kiss, maybe, and licks his lips nervously at the thought. This one won’t be easy and short. He’s going to have to… _Fuck_. He’s going to have to use his tongue, and there’s a good chance of him fouling it up with the prettiest person who’s ever been interested in him. His gaze drops to Zayn’s thigh and he wants to touch it, just hold it for nothing better to do, just for something to ground him. He certainly needs it when fingertips sweep slowly, absently, against his base of his neck, his own hand slipping from his lap to the sofa.

“Is this okay?” Zayn asks quietly, like he’s worried. Zayn shouldn’t be worried, not like Niall.

Niall just nods.

“Here. You can cuddle up with me if you’re scared.”

Not mentioning that it isn’t the movie that has him jumpy, Niall turns, squeezing himself into a snug spot between Zayn and the cushions, praying he’s not too heavy and squashing Zayn’s delicate frame. Zayn lowers his hand and it goes to Niall’s hair with perfect scratches and rubs, making his scalp buzz pleasantly as Columbus goes chasing Wichita through California.

Niall can hear things, stupid things, things that make him feel girly with how tingly they make him; Zayn’s heart throbbing softly; the feathery breaths he’s taking; the surprised hum that tickles his throat when Niall reaches out and traces the line of his forefinger with two of his own pale fingertips. Zayn looks down at Niall and— yeah, he knows. Niall’s seen Harry gaze at Louis like this enough times to know what it means, that it’s the type of look you give someone you fancy when you want to kiss them. Zayn’s eyes are all warm and calm, whereas Niall probably looks small and afraid, curled up and getting preened while zombies are massacred onscreen.

“What are the chances that one of your sisters could walk in?” he mumbles.

A hitch to the corner of Zayn’s lips makes Niall’s toes curl. “It’s pretty even, I think. They might, but we’ll hear them come down the stairs, so, like, we’re safe. Why?”

“Because I really, really want to kiss you.”

He nearly slaps himself but the chuckle and soothing grind of Zayn’s knuckles into the back of his head make it okay. He’s not lying. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more honest in his life.

“We’ve got time,” Zayn grins as he tucks up alongside Niall, letting him slot up against his body.

It’s happening. It’s happening and Zayn’s still smiling, Niall can feel it against his mouth, and the world doesn’t slow down like in films. Rather, it speeds up, and in what feels like a heartbeat Zayn’s lips part gently around Niall’s bottom lip, sucking it in with a nibble and tonguing over where he’s sensitive. Niall makes the pettiest sound he thinks he’s ever heard from himself.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Zayn hisses.

Warmth glows in Niall’s belly and then he’s being tugged up, thighs opening over Zayn’s hips and Zayn’s getting rougher, desperate, stroking Niall’s back the same way Niall strokes his tummy to get himself off. The rasp of Zayn’s stubble against his puffy, already kissed-raw lips makes them fizz as he makes his way down Zayn’s throat, to his collarbone, guided back up to the sharp edge of Zayn’s jaw.

Mouth catching Niall’s, Zayn hikes his knees up against Niall’s arse, pushing him forward, chests flush up against each other, and Niall gets a dig into his inner thigh which he realises is Zayn’s belt. The tight edge is pretty bloody sore, enough that even Zayn’s hot, wet mouth on Niall’s neck can’t take his mind off the ache it’s causing.

Someone’s rustling around upstairs, the sound of a door—

“Shit,” Zayn sighs. “Alright, off.”

Niall shakily hauls himself from Zayn’s lap, glad that he’d been too nervous to get a stiffy.

“Zain Javaad Malik!” a little voice calls.

Zayn groans. “She heard my mum call me that the other day and hasn’t bloody stopped.”

Wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, Niall tries to straighten himself out and not look so much like he’s just had the best snog of his life.

“Who’s this?” the sister asks. “Does Mum know you’ve got a friend? He smells like chicken.”

Niall shrugs. “Chicken’s not a bad thing to smell of.”

She squints at him. “Where’re you from?”

“Safaa, this is Niall. He’s a mate from school,” Zayn explains.

“Yeah, but where’s he _from_?” Safaa asks like Zayn’s an idiot.

“I’m from Ireland.”

“Dad says that everyone drinks lots in Ireland.”

“Your dad’s a smart man,” Niall grins.

Safaa turns to Zayn, pushing her hair out of her face. It’s thick, dark, modest waves like Zayn’s. “Have you drawn any pictures, Zain? Did you draw Cinderella yet?”

“I’ve got to pen it in and then it’ll be done,” he says. “When’s tea? Is Mum in?”

“I don’t know. _You_ ask. Is Niall your boyfriend?” She whispers the last part, leaning over the arm of the sofa to Zayn’s ear. He says something back in another language—Niall think it’s Arabic, but he’s no expert—and she pulls a face. “Have you kissed him on the mouth?” He repeats his answer. “That’s yuck. I’m telling Mum.”

She jogs up the stairs with a smirk that reminds Niall to send extra thanks to God for not having a younger sibling, especially a sister.

“Are you staying for tea? Mum will want to meet you now that Safaa’s opened her big mouth.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Niall admits, “but I’ll ask. What did you tell your sister?”

Shrugging his neat little shoulders, Zayn rests back into the sofa, throwing his legs over Niall’s lap. “I said _maybe_.”

The blush that flares wildly on Niall’s face nearly scalds him, so he hides in Zayn’s shoulder for the rest of the evening.


	5. Blessed and Heartachey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that thing called _life_? Yeah. Wow.
> 
> (Also, I got over 150k notes on a post about Justin Bieber's newest hobby: egg throwing. It's my first post to get over 300 notes _and_ I've got 90 new followers so I'm pretty stoked.)
> 
> Next chapter is not far behind. Having the next segment-thingy just made this chapter too long.
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

“I said I’d come home on time tonight,” Niall’s saying as they scrape through the thin crackle of snow blanketing the field. “Me and Greg have to gather shit because it’s Mum’s weekend tomorrow. D’you want to come to mine?”

“Looking after my sisters,” Zayn sighs.

“You sure you’re not avoiding me?” Niall grins, patting his pocket for Liam’s keys. Zayn persuaded him that since Liam had PE last, and therefore needed a shower, it was only fair that he not leave his passengers in the chill. “Have I put you off?”

“Never,” Zayn smiles, climbing into the backseat.

Jumping up to the front, Niall slots the key in and turns the heater on full, traces a smiley face in the windscreen, and finally squeezes himself between the seats to settle in beside Zayn.

But Zayn scoops him up and drops Niall into his lap; “For warmth,” he murmurs into Niall’s throat.

“Is that what we’re calling it, now?” As he says it, Niall peels off Zayn’s gloves, his hot hands immediately sliding under Niall’s shirt. “More like _heat_ , you fucking monkey.”

“Yeah? Says the one who got a stiffy under the table at dinner,” Zayn bites back, then dips forward, lips slotting snugly against Niall’s.

His tongue, gentle and soft, licks tenderly into Niall’s mouth as they snog, teasing the nerves behind his teeth. Niall’s still learning but the whole open-mouth thing is becoming a lot less like a terrifying ordeal and more like something he’s genuinely eager for. Whenever they have a spare moment to sneak into a nook or cranny, that is. They’ve kissed four times now, not including pecks on the cheek. (Also, Niall tripped to avoid landing on Zayn’s new kitten, only to get a nasty carpet burn on his palm, and Zayn pressed his lips to the stinging skin and then all of Niall’s knuckles; that counts for eleven). It’s easier to get into the mood and melt in Zayn’s hold now that he’s relaxed.

“Wait, I have a serious question,” Zayn whispers, settling Niall down but keeping him close, they’re so close, Niall could kiss him again— “None of that. Hold on for a second, love.”

Giving a little nod, Niall adjusts Zayn’s beanie, breathes into the cup of his hands and presses them to Zayn’s ears to warm them up. He clumsily dodges Zayn’s gaze, occupying himself with things to fiddle about with because, like, what if Zayn’s going to ask about sex? Then Niall would have to admit—if it isn’t already achingly obvious—that he knows nothing beyond a couple of pornos Harry gave him.

“Hey, it’s nothing scary. Just wanted to know…” He sighs and smiles and Niall blinks owlishly. Doesn’t Zayn know that his face is really, really distracting and it’s all a bit devastating but Niall finds himself counting Zayn’s eyelashes. “Fucking hell, Niall. You’re making me nervous. Stop looking so bloody terrified, yeah? It’s all over your face.”

Niall tries, because he knows what Zayn means. Niall wears his feelings like his skin; he doesn’t know how to hide them. It seems exhausting to even attempt it, and that’s probably why he and Harry’ve always been best friends, since they both just _get_ each other without having to keep secrets. If Harry didn’t spend twelve hours a day with Louis and the other twelve missing him, they’d probably still be like that. Niall tries not to think like that too often.

Zayn swallows. “I want you to know that, like, I really like you, and sometime when we’re not waiting in the back of Liam’s car in the middle of blood-shitting cold I’ll tell you why.” For a second he nibbles his lip and his hands go twisty-tight in the back of Niall’s tee shirt. “And you like me, yeah?”

It’s a pretty stupid question, Niall thinks, and nevertheless he’s flustered and his chest is buzzing warmly.

His fingertips rub into the shallow dip lining the bracket of Zayn’s left collarbone. “Yeah.”

“Then would you like to be my boyfriend?” Zayn asks. “To make it official ’nd that.”

Niall nods before he even realises it, an obvious answer coming in the form of, “Yeah. Fucking hell, Zayn, yes, of course,” and it’s admittedly not his most articulate answer but he’s got a _boyfriend_ now. That’s too exciting to bother contemplating whether or not his response is up to Shakespeare standards.

A giddy grin brushing across his lips to match the pink tint to his cheeks, Zayn squeezes Niall’s hips to bring him in a bit more, their noses nearly touching.

“I wish I didn’t have to babysit tonight,” Zayn smiles. “I want to kiss you all day long.”

Butting in before Niall’s considerably cluttered brain can spit out something daft, Zayn delves forward, pressing in when Niall’s off-guard. He’s different now, excited, kisses energetic and eager and it makes Niall’s dick jump in his trousers.

Zayn actually _groans_ , right there in the student carpark in Liam’s backseat, lips tugging Niall’s earlobe before darting back to Niall’s mouth again. His hands are grabby, yanking Niall’s undershirt, his bum, determined to keep Niall on his toes and guessing. It’s working. Niall’s warm all over and they’ve not got _time_ for this, Liam’s going to show up soon and catch Niall semi-hard and Zayn groping him like he’s never felt an arse before.

“I could, um,” Niall murmurs, lightly pushing Zayn away, “get Greg to get my clothes and shit. He owes me because I saw him sneaking out and didn’t tell Dad.”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll live,” Zayn insists wearily. “We should go out sometime, though.”

Niall’s cheeks stain darker from more than just the snog (and the persistent boner that’s _not going down_ ). He wants to be seen with Zayn but he can’t, he’s not ready. Can he still be in and keep Zayn? Is that, like, possible?

“Nowhere posh if you don’t want to,” Zayn adds. “We could grab a McDonald’s and go to the skate park. If anyone’s there, we’re just too lads dicking around on our boards.”

“I can’t skate,” Niall admits.

“I can teach you,” Zayn murmurs, ducking down for another quick touch of his lips to Niall’s before hoisting him onto the side. He straightens out his top and then Niall’s, and Niall’s grinning goofily and he finally gets how Harry feels, how it is to be crushing so hard that it makes you stupid.

The front door opens.

“Hey, babes,” Liam grins. He pauses with the seatbelt almost slid into the buckle and presses a fingertip nose onto the smiley face dribbling down the glass. “’S a bit dire, if I’m honest.”

“Wouldn’t be if you’d showed up a little faster, mate. We missed you,” Zayn coos.

“Yeah, I can see that from the smell of spit. Were you having a snog in my car?” Liam cringes when Niall ducks his head guiltily. “That’s a bit yuck, guys.” He locks eyes with Zayn in the review mirror, apologetic but bright. “You’ll have to sit in the back this time. Sophia’s called shotgun.”

“Liam getting his _ins_ ,” Zayn teases, rocking his hips and getting a disapproving look in return.

Apparently Liam was Zayn’s person to tell as soon as he’d kissed Niall, leaving Louis as the last to find out. To say that he was unimpressed was an understatement, though the pain in Liam’s voice as he pouted about being a fifth wheel seemed to brighten him up enough.

A sharp shock of cold floods the car as all four windows are wound down, leaving the two in the back quickly huddling into each other. “Sorry. Have to get some air through. My car smells like fast food and I’m blaming you, Niall.”

Soon enough the windows are sealed up again and the vents blasting heat until the car’s toasty and Niall doesn’t need to cling to Zayn quite so tightly, so his arms slacken but Zayn keeps him there. Not quite sure how much he can relax into it without Sophia connecting dots, Niall tucks into Zayn’s shoulder and mumbles quietly so that Liam can’t hear over his Justin Timberlake CD.

“Could you call me tonight?” And he’s careful with it, not wanting to sound needy, but his body is buzzing and thrilled and he doesn’t think he can handle being Zaynless for a whole weekend. He has to tell Harry about this, and maybe his dad's girlfriend if she gets home before he leaves.

“Yeah, love,” Zayn whispers. He gives Niall’s shoulder a reassuring rub.

In the front seat, Liam’s looking over himself again and again, drawing the zip of his jacket all the way down and then up to his chest, trying to figure out what degree of exposure is the right amount.

“You gonna tell us v’ass ’appenin’ with you and Sophia?”

Liam wipes his palms on his thighs.

“She takes the bus normally but she goes the same way and I said I’d give her a lift. Not a big deal.” As he says it, though, he sees her. “Can you two _please_ not say anything silly?” Liam begs.

“We’re not like Louis,” Zayn frowns.

“I know, but I’m serious about her. She’s pretty proper, you know?” With a final darting look in the mirror he hops out of the car, waving her over and standing at the passenger side.

“Gentleman,” Niall comments.

Zayn nods, though a frown is hinting quietly at the corners of his mouth. “He’s been so worked up about her. Danielle, his last girlfriend, was with him for three years and I think he thought they’d be high school sweethearts who, like, hitched up and that. He was devastated when they split.” Liam opens the door and in comes Sophia, smiling shyly and uttering a quiet _thanks_. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she peeps, her shrill tone giving away the chill from outside. “Nice in here.”

“D’you want to pass your bag back?” Niall asks, sitting up.

“Yeah, thanks.” She pushes it through the gap in the seats, wincing as it tumbles into Niall’s hands and Liam swings in through the other door.

“Seatbelts on?”

“Of course.”

The ride back is quiet, but Niall just counts his lucky stars that he’s not got a stiffy anymore. He listens—fingers stroking Zayn’s where they meet in the middle, hidden behind Sophia’s shoulderbag—as Liam and Sophia make light conversation, and they jokingly sing along to _Mirrors_. As he goes to get out of the car, Zayn kisses his own thumbpad and brushes it against Niall’s wrist, and it lingers like he’s shocked Niall yet left him a warmth rather than pain. He’s still thinking about it and then rubbing his lips together and remembering _oh God, Zayn’s mouth_ as he stumbles up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Took your time, Niall!” Greg calls. “I’m leaving for in an hour, alright? I’m thinking we go at quarter to five, get there before eight. Pack your shit and grab something to eat, and something for me. I think Dad bought pies the other day but I’m not sure.”

It’s all a bit much to process so Niall just says, “Yeah,” and locks his door behind him. He feels like leaping, like he can’t possibly spend three hours in Greg’s car – he has to _do_ something.

Niall grabs what he hopes is an acceptable range of clothes through the blur as he rummages roughly through his drawers, leaving them in a state of chaos in his hurry. Knowing that he’ll regret the rush later, when he has to unpack and can’t find his phone because it’s under his trackie bums or he’s missing a pair of socks, he zips up the bag the rest of the way. Once he’s done packing he realises that he has so much time and, well, he’s got nothing better to do but get wanking.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Where are you off to?” Greg asks, frowning over his iPod.

To be fair, they’ve only been back at Dad’s for five minutes. It’s Monday afternoon and a snow day. Greg had suggested movies and Niall had said he’d think about it.

Bullshit.

He’d been set on leaving as soon as he’d gotten out of Greg’s beat-up second-hand Shit on Wheels, as they all liked to call it. Greg’s popping off to Tesco’s so Niall, in warmer gear and grabbing some biscuits from the tin, doesn’t see the harm in asking for a lift. Besides, Zayn told him on the phone last night that he has a film he’d like Niall to see.

“Zayn’s,” Niall answers. He blushes just saying it.

“Where am I dropping you off, then?”

“I’ll show you the way. He’s about ten minutes from here,” and he’s halfway out the door as he says it, flinging his backpack over his shoulder.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn answers in a beanie and sweats, lip rings exchanged for plain studs and a look of shock on his face.

“For… heaven’s sake, Niall,” he hisses, yanking him inside. “It’s freezing!”

A weak smile blooms on Niall’s face. “You’re telling me.” He pauses mid-step as Zayn drags him to the heater to repeat, “ _Heaven’s sake_?”

“Not allowed to swear,” he shrugs, gesturing to his sisters who are all huddled over mugs in the other room. “Want some hot chocolate? You look like death, mate.”

“Not a very nice thing to say to your boyfriend, _babe_ ,” Niall retorts in a whisper. He puts emphasis on the nickname, inwardly grimacing at how awkwardly it tumbles off of his tongue, though Zayn lights up all the same.

“Sorry, love.” He dots a kiss to Niall’s lips and ducks into the kitchen, emerging with a cup just seconds later.

Niall stares at it longingly, lifting his hands where they’ve been floating in the hot air clouding off the heater. “Is that yours?” he asks guiltily.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make myself another one. B’sides, ’s’not like we haven’t swapped spit before.” He accompanies the cheeky tone with a very gentle bump of his hip against Niall’s. Niall feels his face go hot uncomfortably quickly.

“He’s your boyfriend, inn’ee?”

Niall looks under his arm to see Safaa perched on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward on her elbows.

Zayn groans. “Safaa—”

“No, he is. You told Mum that he is. I heard you,” she says, adding something in Arabic that Niall doesn’t understand, but with the same smug tone children use when they know something they shouldn’t.

“I _am_ his boyfriend.” Niall smirks. “Zayn’s just being annoying.”

“’S’not the first time,” Safaa states, but she’s giggling all the same. “Waliyha didn’t believe me. She said you can’t be Zain’s boyfriend because you’re too pale.”

“Safaa!” Zayn snaps.

Resembling Louis with a startlingly similar, unimpressed look, Safaa raises her thick eyebrows and sighs, “She said it, not me,” and climbs down from the sofa before Zayn can retort.

“Bloody hell,” Niall finally blurts, gawking “She’s scared of— _She_ is scared of monsters? How? My money’s more on them being scared of her! Jesus Christ.”

Zayn gives a goofy grin and bursts into giggles—hiding them in Niall’s shoulder—as the younger lad shakes his head in disbelief before tipping back his mug, chugging every drop until just the dark leftovers pool at the bottom. Eventually, Zayn composes himself, though he’s still chuckling just slightly into Niall’s neck. He hums the last of his laughter and asks, “Did you really just run all the way over for a drink?”

Niall chews on his lip even thinking about it, about what might be on the cards now that Zayn’s his boyfriend.

“Well, I didn’t come here to get bullied by a little girl,” Niall replies, figuring that there’s only so much cheekiness he can take before trying it out himself. “So, yeah. I have to leave at six, though.”

Zayn does this sly smile like they’re about to rob a bank rather than creep up to his room, and he even lets Niall look through the drawings that are all stacked up on his desk beside the shelf half-filled with novels (including the entire Harry Potter collection, Niall notices) and the other half with comics.

“These are really good,” Niall says as Zayn fishes his iPod out of his pocket and slips it onto a tiny sound system that plays just enough that he can hear Zayn talk, but hopefully enough to smother their noises from the girls. Then, in a smaller voice, “We’ve never snogged on a bed before.” And it’s true – it’s always had to be sneaky kisses during stolen time in dead hallways except for that one time on the sofa.

“You weren’t my boyfriend before,” Zayn replies, stretching himself out across the sheets with room for Niall to press up alongside him. His eyes draw to Niall’s mouth and Niall _sees him_ take a breath to ground himself. The whole thing is a jolt of warmth flaring up to his chest and down to his toes, that he’s able to turn Zayn on like this, that Zayn _wants_ to kiss him.

Zayn’s delicate with him, always has been, but it’s a shock to Niall’s system because he’s been primed for heavier and riskier, so he goes for it. He shifts his weight against Zayn’s, tipping him onto his back. With gentle, careful hands fluttering up the slim of his waist, Zayn eases him down onto his chest and hooks his knees behind Niall’s arse, no space between and it makes Niall’s head spin. He has to break away from Zayn’s lips just to gather himself up again.

He traces the smooth column of Zayn’s throat to the shallow dip between his collarbones, relishing in the gasp Zayn chokes on when Niall kisses the side of his neck. He’s just testing the waters, now, brain pestering him with worries whispered so loudly between the slow wet sounds, the occasional rough breath, and the music. There aren’t tongues battling for dominance or frenzied whirlwinds kisses like he’s read in some of Jesy’s books. Maybe he’s doing it wrong. Maybe what he likes isn’t necessarily what Zayn likes at all.

“Is this okay?” he finally asks as Zayn is on top of him and he’s got one leg between Niall’s.

“Yeah, of course,” Zayn answers as he ducks in to nibble on Niall’s earlobe. He leans up and blinks sleepily, but his voice is throaty and quiet. “This alright with you?”

Niall nods, fingertips rubbing into the stubble at the nape of Zayn’s neck.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re even redder than usual,” Zayn smiles, not unkindly. He pets fondly at Niall’s hair, pushing it off his face even though he’s probably a bit sweaty and gross.

Without even having to glance in a mirror, Niall knows that the depth his natural pink has tripled. He can’t help it. He’s horny and nervous and warm, so bloody warm, and his semi-hard dick is wetting just under the fly of his jeans. He silently curses himself for not being able to keep everything under control for just a fifteen-minute snog, nearly bursting with the need to get some of the pressure off.

“Bit hot,” he admits, half-sitting up to pull off his jumper. Zayn helps, smoothing his hands up under the hem and Niall knows that Zayn’s not undressing him for _that_ reason, though it’s shyly intimate all the same to be under him in just a singlet and trousers.

“You should just say when you’re overheating, mate. Don’t want you passing out while I’m trying to kiss you.” Zayn looks at Niall all concerned, his “Mother Hen” face, as Louis calls it.

Niall gives a rough sigh, grinning despite the discomfort in his trousers. “I know.”

Under Zayn’s soothing, careful kisses, the static-rhythm _thunk-thunk-thunk_ of Niall’s heart quiets till he barely notices, no longer hammering as heavily in his eardrums. Occasionally Zayn shifts away and simply looks at him, lets his fingers graze down Niall’s face and into his hair and, once, down to his chest, around where his left nipple is. All Niall really does is grab at Zayn’s shirt until his knuckles turn snow-white and stroke between his shoulder blades.

He could get used to this, he thinks happily.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn only comes over to his when Greg’s definitely out of the house. Niall’s not one hundred percent positive that he’d say something embarrassing, but the odds lean in favour of a baby picture or a stupid story from when Niall was, like, five.

Niall’s fiddling about with his guitar when Zayn knocks, amazed at the way his body seems to fill with something lighter than air at the thought of Zayn being there with him. He suddenly feels bad for laughing at Harry.

“Oh, cool,” Zayn grins, thumbing lightly around the rim where the honey-toned wood meets the darker shade. “I’ve got my drawing stuff. You could play while I sketch, if you want.”

It’s better than any of the dates that Niall had with Holly. They kiss a little bit, do homework, watch some telly, and Zayn listens to Niall play like he’s walked straight off the stage after collecting a VMA.

“You’re brilliant. Seriously fucking amazing at that,” Zayn exclaims. “You’re gonna be a favourite at campfires, mate.”

“Well, your drawings are fantastic.” Niall points out one of Superman pulling a face over Batman’s shoulder. “See this? You even did all the strands of hair and the texture on his tongue. I barely know how to pick up a pencil.”

Zayn’s face glows red and he nuzzles into Niall’s shoulder to hide it. Niall plucks away at the guitar strings, brushing his thumb against them and letting notes come and go from his throat until he’s satisfied with a cool rhythm of the two, mumbling words where he’s too shy and the room’s too quiet. 

Niall wonders if he’s in love with Zayn, and clips the idea off as soon as it takes. People don’t hide the ones they love. He needs to toughen the fuck up.

“Do you ever think about coming out?” Zayn eventually asks.

Niall falters, catching too hard on a string and causing it to snap loudly.

“Shit,” he hisses, reaching into his case for another. “I, um, I don’t know.”

Watching Niall dispose of the broken one and tie on a new string, Zayn picks at a corner of Niall’s bedsheet. Niall fucks up four times before he manages to get it right and set to work on tuning it distractedly.

When he’s had enough of the repetitive _ping-pung-ping_ and nothing else, Zayn sighs quietly to himself and Niall hears it, heart crawling up his throat.

“The boys know, and I know, like, I don’t think anyone cares, really.”

They share a glance that Niall wants to say, “I’m scared,” but Zayn’s is all hope, all wishful thinking, all this quiet glow that makes Niall’s bones tighten. He never wants to let Zayn down though right now he can feel himself preparing for exactly that.

“I’m not ready,” he says, hunching over his guitar. It’s not a big fucking deal, but it _is_ , but it _shouldn’t_ be, but— “When I told Seth and Josh … They shot me down pretty hard, and they were my best friends. What about people who _haven’t_ known me since I was ten? They’re gonna…” He gulps and closes his eyes like he can shut off the world. “I don’t know if I can do it, Zayn.”

Hearing the awful pinch in Niall’s breath, Zayn tucks in behind him and hands over his inhaler, whispering, “It’s okay, you don’t have to do _anything_ you don’t want to, yeah? Not a thing,” and Niall feels like Zayn’s being cheated by saying such kind, understanding things when he’s being robbed of holding his boyfriend’s hand, of changing his relationship status, of kisses that don’t have to be secret.

“I’m sorry,” Niall heaves. He takes a puff of his inhaler.

“We’ll all support you. You know we will,” Zayn murmurs into the back of his neck. “C’mon, let’s make dinner. Burgers, right?”

It turns out that Zayn’s cooking extends beyond ethnic food, alternating between watching retro cartoons on the telly and nudging the patties around until they’re perfect, really fucking wonderful, and Niall feels blessed and heartachey all at once.


	6. Too Many Fruit Cubes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corrections, questions, and general feedback are, like always, welcome. tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/) so you can send an ask if you don't want it posted here.

To be fair, it takes a lot to change Niall’s mind. He starts to slot things in place, though, beginning with the way he catches and stops himself reaching for Zayn’s hand as they walk to the art room at lunch.

“Y’alright?” Zayn raises his eyebrows and bumps Niall gently with his shoulder. Niall nods and grins.

A couple of nights later, they’re in Zayn’s car, pulled up outside Niall’s house and Niall gets ready to lean in for a goodnight kiss—they still make him giddy, still make him excited, he doesn’t _ever_ want to get used to kissing Zayn—when Zayn nudges his hand.

“Wait a second,” he whispers carefully, tilting his chin at a jogger on the pavement who Niall recognises from gym. Her name’s Barbara, an exchange student. Barbara passes the car and Zayn ducks forward and kisses Niall, and it’s the first time that Niall feels slightly disappointed afterwards.

And the third thing is that, sometimes, when it’s late and he’s tired and numb and silently brave (or very, very stupid), he just lacks the energy to give a fuck. His family loves him. He has friends. Who cares? Who _actually_ , honest-to-God cares?

Niall also buys a box of temporary hair dye and hides it under his bed.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Harry is a familiar breath of fresh air in Niall’s life, like when spring returns and the flowers come out, or strawberries in summer, or pine in autumn, or smoke in winter. He’s passed the honeymoon phase and doesn’t spend nearly as much time with every limb latched onto Louis like a baby koala, so he and Niall are back to normal again. Well, like, Niall has a boyfriend now, but he and Harry are talking like they always have, only with a bit more sex laced into their gossip now that Niall’s actually getting some.

And Anne’s so cool that she let Louis stay over for the night, although she made Harry _promise_ and swear on her life (something that Harry really didn’t want to bring into it) that he wouldn’t be doing the nasty with her and Gemma in the house. After having to repeat the word “penis” fifteen times as a taste of the punishment if Anne finds out otherwise, Harry had apparently lost a sizeable chunk of his sex drive for the evening, anyway.

Thankfully, Anne and Gemma spent their evening in the back garden and left early in the morning, so apparently pulling one off then didn’t breach the terms of the agreement.

“He woke me up with a blowjob, Niall. _A blowjob_.”

Niall woke up to a minor hangover which was only as bad as a dry mouth that tasted like death, but he doesn’t mention that. Derby was playing on the telly and bloody Greg challenged him to a drinking game.

“Really?” he says instead. “How was it?”

“Louis has no gag reflex,” Harry tells him excitedly. “I’ve never had someone who could deepthroat me before. It’s amazing. He swallowed and everything.”

Taking another good glug of Coke—he’d really, really like to swear on Christ that he’d not getting a bit hard right now, but being a teenage boy tends to mean that he’s mostly always a bit hard—Niall bumps his head a bit to some indie band Harry has playing. Nsync or something. They’ve got the boot of the car open, having stuffed a single-bed duvet into it for a makeshift sofa because it’s a warm night, perfect for drinking beer and talking.

“It’s nothing like a blowjob from a girl, bro. He knows what he’s doing and, like, where to touch, how long to touch for, that sort of thing.”

“Did you return the favour?” Niall grins cheekily, and it’s good to just be with his best mate for a while and forget about poor Zayn, talking about sex in the back of a car.

A harsh flush of pink fogs under Harry’s skin. “I did, yeah. See, last night we were snogging, and we were both pretty horny, and he was like, ‘What if I offered to suck you off?’ and I thought it’d be better if I went first, so that I could, like, learn.” He takes a steadying breath. “So I blew him for a bit under the covers while he told me what to do, which was alright, um, and then got me to lie on my back.”

Niall cringes because he thinks he knows where this is going, which Harry catches and his brows shoot up.

“I didn’t sick up on him, none of that, I promise,” Harry interjects quickly. “He just dipped his cock in, and I had a hand on him, right, and he said he was about to come, and,” Harry raises his hands and drops them to his thighs, sighing wistfully, “I lost it.”

This time, Niall has to collect his eyeballs from where they’ve popped out of his skull, on the grass where his jaw’s dropped, too. Something’s being called out through the sound system but Harry’s blush speaks louder volumes, blocking out everything else.

“You jizzed yourself?” Niall whispers, and he can’t help the grin possessing him as he tries not to laugh. “Oh my god, did you really?”

“Shut up,” Harry frowns. It’s too halfhearted to be really pissed off. “C’mon, Niall, you would’ve if you’d seen him. He gets all lovely and desperate when he’s about to come.”

“Don’t we all?” Niall tips the bottle back, downs the last of his drink. “What’d he say after that?”

Harry shrugs. “He asked if I could get hard again, and I suppose that I could’ve, but all of the excitement pretty much caved in and I was too tired to do much of anything. He asked me if I _wanted_ to get hard again, and I said no, so he said he’d make it up to me, got me a new pair of boxers, and we went to sleep,” he says, shy grin cocking his lips. “He was really beautiful afterwards, all blissed-out and cuddly. Wish I’d taken a photo, actually.”

“Weirdo,” Niall mutters. “How come you’ve never done it before? Would’ve thought that you two’d be at it like rabbits.”

“Um,” Harry hums thoughtfully, taking a breath in through his mouth and blowing it out of his nose. “We were just alright with hand jobs, I guess. I mean, once you get past the excitement of having your dick in someone’s mouth, you miss the friction. Plus, what you really want is some attention on your knob, which can be a bit difficult with just your tongue.” He nods like he’s said something philosophical and not just ruined Niall’s anticipation for a gobbie and made it sound really boring. “There’s a reason that guys in porn jerk off at the end, I think.”

“Thanks for that. Bit more information than I needed, though,” Niall snorts.

“Where were you, yesterday?” Harry asks. “I tried to call but Bobby said that you were out.”

Niall was with Zayn, getting sneaky kisses pried out of him at the skate park. Nobody was even around but he’d been so scared that he barely finished his second burger, worried that someone might see them. The only person who approached was a cop, who was very kind and was on first-name basis with Zayn, apparently through a family connection than something bad. Still, Niall couldn’t keep the guilt from caking his insides, giving Zayn an extra-long snog outside his house to make up for it.

And that’s how Niall ends up blurting confessing all – the coming out thing, how he doesn’t want to let Zayn down, how it makes him feel legitimately sick even _thinking_ about announcing such an intimate secret to the world. Harry’s brows knot tightly as he frowns like he’s thinking, oh Christ.

At the same time, Niall’s relieved. As much as he likes that Harry can make him feel better _without_ saying anything, sometimes he just needs someone else to talk, his problems simplifying when they come from somebody else.

“That’s a bit rubbish,” Harry agrees.

Niall groans. “I know, but, like, I have other friends besides you lot. What if they don’t want to talk to me anymore? People’re gonna… I don’t want to be second-guessing everyone’s intentions. It’ll make things so much more fucking complicated, but if I don’t then Zayn’s stuck with his head in the shit.”

“No, I mean…” Harry huffs quietly. “You don’t need to be so worried, but your decision shouldn’t be about other people. You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?” There’s a pause as Niall’s eyes flick up to catch Harry’s face, how his eyebrows are raised sympathetically but his general expression is clever and knowing. “You’ve got to do this for yourself. You’ve got to listen to your heart.” He’s grinning, now, as Niall buries his face in his hands. “Do a Gabriella.”

Managing to tear himself away from his palms, Niall says, “A what?”

“ _High School Musical_!” Harry practically shouts, sounding insulted that Niall could forget. “ _It’s so hard to say, but I’ve got to do what’s best for me_ …” he croons. “ _You’ll be okay._ ”

“But then she goes, _I’ve got to move on and be who I am_ ,” Niall points out. He’s not nearly as enthusiastic with his singing, because Harry’s neighbours are _old_. Like, the _last_ thing that they want to hear is two teenage boys splitting their lungs open over a song aimed at kids, though if they were in Harry’s room then Niall would shamefully commit.

“Well, Harry Potter taught us that nobody belongs in a closet,” Harry says. “You’ve just got to figure out where you’re most comfortable.”

He doesn’t say it all stuck-up and patronisingly wise, and Niall realises just how much he loves having Harry as a mate, how much he loves Harry in general.

“Thanks, bro,” he sighs.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry nods, big hand rubbing the back of Niall’s neck as they watch the sun dip lower and lower.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall and Zayn have been going out for two months when Niall gingerly admits during a lads’ night at Liam’s auntie’s place, “Maybe it’s about time that I came out.”

Zayn jostles him slightly to get enough space between them, shredding Niall’s attempt at mumbling into his shirt and basically hiding forever. This doesn’t have to be a massive deal, but— Niall wants Zayn there, anyway. Like a big, bumbling baby, he needs his friends—four of his favourite people in the world—to hold his hand and do this with him before he freaks and drops it.

“That’s really brave of you, Niall,” Harry says while Zayn rights himself. “It’s not a big thing, I promise. Nobody cared when I came out.”

Louis raises his hand and gestures to Zayn; “And if someone gives you trouble, you’ve got a boyfriend with tattoos. Plus, there’s a weight-lifting friend to deal with.” Louis gives Liam’s arm a quick nip with his hand. “See? Solid. And you know that I will deliver social hell upon anyone who looks at you sideways.”

Niall looks to Zayn and Zayn— says nothing. He examines Niall too closely, like he’s looking for the cracks splitting through him at even the _thought_ of putting himself out in the open, and Niall doesn’t understand. Isn’t this what Zayn wants? He’d _asked_ , for fuck’s sake.

It’s only when Louis bumps Zayn with his elbow and his gaze turns steely that Zayn finally reacts with words.

“That’s great, like.” He nods and even manages to sew a smile into the corners of his mouth. “We’re here for you.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asks.

Niall hadn’t actually thought of that. He doesn’t need to echo any Hollywood stereotypes, and a Facebook status seems a bit too out-there as well.

“You could literally just hold Zayn’s hand,” Liam suggests, turning so he’s got an elbow on the sofa and his chin atop his hand. “Or you could change your ‘Interested in’ bit on Facebook. I don’t think that people are going to make this any bigger than it is, to be honest.”

“Yeah, but,” Niall shrugs off his frown and smiles shakily, “still scared, though.”

Louis reaches across Zayn and rubs Niall’s knee. “’S alright to be scared. Not to get too sentimental and shit, but when _I_ came out, there were tears. Ladies’, mostly, but a few of mine in there, too.” He sniffs at the skeptical look from Liam.

“He cried when he came out to me,” Liam tacks on, giving his own grin as Louis tuts and sighs.

“Details, details, Lima Bean. Hey, what about when you went to have sex for the first time and _called me_ from her bathroom while she waited upstairs for you, going, ‘ _Looouis_ , I’m not going to last, she looks so beautiful, she’s done her hair how I like, I don’t know if I’m _readyyy_ ,’” Louis mimics meanly.

After a considerable amount of giggling as Liam’s eyes widen indignantly, Niall says, “I’m coming out, then. Cool. I’m also hungry.”

He totters through to the kitchen with Zayn silently in tow, and Niall taps a quick cross onto his chest, worry grinding his insides.

“Niall?”

“Yeah?” Niall replies. He keeps his tone easy, light.

But Zayn won’t let him be easygoing, hands turning him around as Zayn nearly chews through his lip. Niall can see the stud wiggling.

“You have to promise me something, love,” Zayn tells him. “You’re doing this for you, right? You’re coming out because you want to, not because I want it. ’Cause I… Harry told Louis about it, like, I didn’t mean it to come off that way, I promise. I can wait and I don’t really mind, like.” He takes a careful, grounding breath. “We’re alright where we are if it’s where you want to be.”

Niall can’t decide if he wants to wring Harry’s neck or kiss him, but it’s Harry, so of course he wants to kiss him (in a strictly friendly way). “No, Zayn, I want this,” he says.

He’d never realised how _much_ he wants this until it was put out in the open. Niall’s a bad liar and terrible at keeping his own secrets, and he doesn’t want _this_ —what he has with Zayn, how hot he thinks Cristiano Ronaldo is, how fucking shitty it is when guys rag on queer people—to be his secret anymore.

All of this comes tumbling out like the whirlwind it is, Zayn’s face going soft and a smile hinting at him as Niall finishes in a rush with, “Jesus Christ, I just want— Fucking cliché but I don’t want to hide. That’s not me.”

Zayn shakes his head slowly, grinning. “Not, it’s not.”

“You’re not pressuring me into anything,” Niall assures him.

“That’s what I needed to hear,” Zayn nods.

They pick out four packets of crisps, a can of Pepsi, and Zayn beams at Niall for the entire night, obviously so bloody proud, and Niall knows that he’s made the right choice.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn holds his hand while Niall changes his status to “In a relationship with Zayn Malik” and the notifications pop up instantly.

Harry Styles: _:)_

_Louis Tomlinson likes your relationship status._

Jesy Nelson: _Well done Niall!! So proud of you!!_

(This is followed by a message that simply says, “ _We need to talk cocks and blow jobs fo sho_.” Niall agrees and ignores Zayn’s raised eyebrows.)

_Jesy Nelson, Andy Samuels, and five others like your relationship status._

Nathan Sykes: _Nasty._

Niall knows that he shouldn’t care about what Nathan has to say about his dating life but he feels his body lock up nevertheless.

“Block him,” Zayn says immediately, moving the mouse to “Hide”. Despite the sternness and the anger in his throat, Zayn still looks to Niall for permission, which Niall gives. Jesy’s reply ( _Looked at your reflection again, didn’t you?_ ) and Leigh Anne’s ( _Rich coming from an “other man”. How’s Ariana?_ ) disappear with it, and Zayn clicks _Block Nathan_ and that’s that.

With Nathan’s comment gone, Niall feels slightly better, like he’s thawing. “Fuck it, I don’t care,” he finally shrugs, but he still checks his phone every five minutes, watching the likes build till he has eighty nine and Zayn has one hundred and two.

“Not bad,” Zayn says.

He’s right, really; Nathan was the only one whose homophobia reared its ugly head, and there were definitely more people who were cheering Niall on than not. He gets messages and smiley faces that tell him that it’s cool and he’s brave and, like, it’s all much better than he could’ve hoped for.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

_1 – Holly Scally._

Niall doesn’t open it.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Before Niall knows it, they’ve been going out for three— _three!!!_ —months, and Harry and Louis are on four and a bit, and Zayn’s inviting him to a party.

“’S really controlled, like, couple of boys from the rugby team at the gate, Danny’s parents are in, everyone just having a beer and chilling,” Zayn insists. “You drink, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Niall nods, desperately trying to be open to anything. He refuses to be dingy and lame and a prude. Besides, he can handle his booze as well as any Irishman. “When’s this party?”

Zayn checks his phone. “Tomorrow.”

So he helps Niall pick out his clothes (because he’s lovely and stylish and helpful) while Niall putters about with his hair, eventually deciding that he and Zayn can _not_ be the Quiff Couple. While he’s fluffing his fringe and twirling it up like a unicorn’s horn, Zayn hooks his chin over Niall’s shoulder, pressing half of his smile into the back of Niall’s neck.

“I’m going to look proper cool, like,” Zayn grins. “Your fratboy snapback on, and my trophy boyfriend on my arm.”

Niall beams. “You’ll bring me as well, right?”

Zayn presses the bridge of his nose against Niall’s cheek as he snickers and, yeah, the heavens open in Niall’s heart. He can hear his dad trudging up the stairs to his room to get changed and Niall remembers something they’d talked about earlier, something he’s been looking forward to.

“You can stay the night, if you want,” he says timidly. “Dad and I had a talk.”

Blinking once, twice, Zayn pulls back and looks directly at Niall’s face rather than their reflections.

“Like, are you serious?” he asks. “’Cause I will. I might have to borrow some things or go back and get mine, but, like, I’d love to.” His tongue is a pink flash as it darts out to wet his bottom lip. “Where would I sleep?”

“In my bed, with me. We’d just… We don’t have to do things.” The end steeps like a question. He _wants_ to do things but he doesn’t feel ready, still gets too nervous when Zayn’s hands slip from his arse to his hips to his stomach, too low.

“No, love. We can just sleep,” Zayn answers, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the warmth in Niall’s body.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

As they’re cuddling—kisses kept innocent between grins and whispers—Zayn says, “You’re so cute.”

“’S me Irish charm,” Niall grins, accent flaring.

“’S’not just that,” Zayn insists, voice worn from the day. “Juss’ looking at you’s like seeing sunshine in a snapback.”

“Aw.” Niall snuggles up to him. “You should write Valentine’s Day cards.”

“A fallback career for when people don’t want mistakes inked onto them for life,” Zayn agrees.

“Yours look good, though. They all fit.” He links his fingers around Zayn’s tiny wrist and pulls it out from under the covers, examining them as well as he can without much light, though he can see the _ZAP!_ and the snake’s body where it’s curving. It’s crazy just how easily the borrowed pyjamas—sweats and a daggy tee shirt—smell like Zayn already. Niall may never wash them. “I’ve thought about getting tattoos.”

“It’s cool, man, ’cause you can have a scrapbook on your body and colour it in,” Zayn murmurs, fingers light on Niall’s arm. “What’d you want?”

Teeth catching his lip and staring at Zayn’s ink, Niall tries to pinpoint one of his ideas. He has a few things that he’s seen Zayn draw, like a guitar for his hip, or a heart with notes inside it that spill out the bottom and down his ribs, or the chords for “I can’t change” in _Same Love_ across his left collarbone.

Eventually, he says, “A stamp. _Made in Ireland_ on my arse.”

Zayn does his kind of laugh where his nose scrunches and he shakes a little, so quiet as to not wake up the whole house. God, they’re _giggling_ about Niall’s arse. It’s so different from the first time they shared a bed, when they were getting to know each other and Niall didn’t know how much Zayn would mean to him in just a few months. His heart swells and thuds with so much that he can hardly hold himself together.

“Fuck, that’d be a sight,” Zayn finally murmurs. He makes a little moaning-humming sound as he exhales, the duvet rustling obnoxiously loudly as he shifts. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Niall says immediately. Of course it is – Zayn’s not had someone else’s hand on his dick in three months, so Niall can overlook a boner under the sheets. A hard rush rides through him as he realises that— Zayn’s dick is _right there_. He could reach down a hand and go for it, get Zayn off before they fall asleep, and just the tiniest speck of the possibility has his own cock filling up.

They’re both hard and horny and in a bed and it’s obviously a perfect opportunity, yet Niall can’t bring himself to do it.

After some light conversation, Zayn seems to have settled enough that he can curl in behind Niall. Niall’d never thought that the big spoon could be so small, but Zayn rubs his forehead between Niall’s shoulderblades and his little hand is a soothing weight on his stomach.

“G’night, Niall,” he mumbles, followed by a big yawn that spreads heat through Niall’s back.

“Na-night, Zayn.” Niall brings the covers to his chin and falls asleep not too long afterward.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

The morning is a bit shaky, because Niall’s never remembered getting morning wood this badly before, and it doesn’t help that he’s been dreaming about Zayn going down on him the entire night. He even gets a hand down his pants before Zayn breathes in a snuffly sort of way—like a rabbit—and Niall wakes up properly.

Zayn’s in his bed.

His top’s rode up overnight. Jesus Christ.

Niall considers pulling off anyway, since he’s really not going to be more than a minute, but opts for a shower wank instead, lumping a towel in front of his crotch in case anyone’s up and about. He thinks about how Zayn’d gotten hard last night—thinking about Niall’s arse, no less—and comes easily against the tiles, lining them with thick wads of jizz.

Zayn’s still mostly half-naked when Niall gets back, not having bothered to adjust the hem where it’s tucked under his armpits, exposing a considerable amount of smooth, tan skin down to where his hips are swallowed by the mass of duvet.

“Party tonight,” Niall says.

“Sick,” Zayn mumbles. He maybe adds something like, “Gotta get my wax,” and faceplants into his pillow.

“What’re you gonna wear?” Niall asks, hopping into his briefs before dropping his towel. Zayn’s picked out a snapback from Niall’s collection and said something about skinny jeans, maybe his leather jacket.

“My trainers, my black jeans, my graphic shirt, and…” He turns his head and blinks up at Niall, seemingly unfazed by the nudity at the ungodly hour of ten in the morning. “I think I might change my studs?”

“Oh, yeah?” Niall nods. Sometimes he surprises himself with how fucking whipped he is, like now as he finds himself completely and undeniably attentive to how Zayn will style himself up. It’s like dating a shining star with tattoos, and Niall wishes he’d said so, last night.

“Mm,” Zayn hums. “Might stick to black on my ears and silver on my face, since my jacket's got zips.”

Greg’s radio starts blaring _Starstrukk_ and is promptly switched to a different station.

“’M I the last up?” Zayn’s toes poke out the end of the bed as he stretches. “I can have a shower here, or a shower at home. Probably at home. Need’ta shave.”

That sounds splendid, considering the face that Niall may spontaneously combust if he thinks too much about having a wet, naked, soapy Zayn _in his shower_.

From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.18am: _Where’s Hazza? He’s not answering his phone and I’m well horny._

Zayn peers up from his own phone. “Did you just get that text from Louis?”

Niall nods. “Awful, those two.”

Their phones buzz again.

From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.32am: _Dw I’m at his house. He’s still asleep!_

From: Tommo the Tease xox — 10.40am: _Ahoho. Someone’s having a good dream._

And Niall knows that he really, really shouldn’t look when he gets a SnapChat five minutes later, but it’s just a photo of Harry’s sleeping face, with the caption, “ _Hectic night; too many fruit cubes!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...
> 
> There's smut in the next chapter...
> 
> That's good.


	7. A Shock of Red and Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe that the strength of a relationship isn't proven by how little you fight, but how you work through the road bumps.
> 
> (Also, remember how I'd said that there'd be smut? Yeah. I switched my chapters around, so now we here. Smutless. Smut is fo sho in the next chapter, though, so whehhey!)
> 
> Writing Liam's texts was so much fun.
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

“And this’ll be okay, right?” Niall asks, pulling some hair out the fold of his beanie. “Not too fratboy for your mates, or anything?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I’ve told you – they don’t give a shit. Just be cool. You’ll be alright.” He takes a few steps forward, his chest to Niall’s back, nuzzling in against the nape of Niall’s neck. “People love you, you know. You’re just one of those people.”

Against his better judgment, Niall slides a few bands on – two rubber ones from concerts, a friendship bracelet from Harry, and a leather one that Zayn let him borrow and never asked to have back. Niall would like to say that he doesn’t remember when that began, when random items went from _his_ or _Zayn’s_ to _theirs_ , but he knows that it started with a guitar pick. He left it at Zayn’s house and, when he came over again, it was a bookmark in a comic. Zayn had tried to give it back only to be told that he could keep it, and now it’s on a metal ring, attached to a necklace that Zayn wears beneath the collar of his shirts.

Not long after, Zayn started leaving his drawings around Niall’s room. He’s got a wall for them, proudly displayed opposite his bed so that they’re the first things that he sees when he wakes up.

It was all coy forgetfulness and sneaky gifts from there, really. They’ve only recently started swapping clothes—a tee shirt here, a snapback there—and Niall feels honored to be donning Zayn’s blue hoodie right now.

“We’re taxiing back, aren’t we?” he checks.

Zayn nods. “Splitting the fare?”

“Yeah,” Niall says, turning to his reflection again.

“Hey,” Zayn frowns. “C’mon, you look lovely. Calm down, yeah? These are my mates, not a bunch of sharks.”

“Yeah, but…” Niall trails off, distracted by this flicky bit that _will not stay with the rest of his hair_.

Zayn’s hand slips over his hip and he finds the stray lock, tucking it away. “You’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll look after you, alright? Promise.”

“Alright,” Niall agrees, leaning up for a kiss. They grab their phones and wallets and head off for Danny’s.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

It’s not like a party out of a movie, or any of the parties that Niall’s been too.

There are no red cups, only beer bottles, neatly rowed beside the recycling bins set up in the house. Sophia and Liam are at the side where the front door is, kissing sweetly on the steps, his hand on her waist and hers on his knee. She pulls away first, flicking a shy smile to Niall which Liam follows, going a fresh shade of pink.

“How’s’ it inside?” Zayn asks.

“The music’s good,” Sophia nods. “Danny had to kick someone out for stubbing a fag into the carpet, but it’s really easygoing and cruisy. Oh, and Jesy’s here, Niall. She told me to tell you if I saw you.”

“Sick,” Niall grins, bounding up to the front door before he remembers that this is _Zayn’s_ friend’s party, turning around and reaching for him. Zayn looks like such a stunner in his outfit, having swapped the jacket for a big, charcoal jumper with _Sex Pistols – Anarchy in the UK_ printed on the front in ransom note-style lettering, snapback a shock of red and black.

They go through the door holding hands, seeking out familiar faces. For Zayn, they come easily; he cheers as Stan comes bounding over, offering beer around and boasting about the latest win in rugby. Jesy also gets wind of Niall’s presence and latches on within seconds, dragging him to the back garden.

Completely deserted, it’s just about a ten by twenty square of grass with a fireplace in the middle, more than enough for them to grab a picnic blanket from the stack and drink their beers. Jesy looks excitable and giddy as they spread the blanket and fold it in half for them to sit on, facing the embers.

Niall gives it a jab with the poker and Jesy lays two new logs onto it, blowing to make the flames climb higher.

“So,” she sings. “How’s Zayn?”

“Good,” he answers in the same tone. He takes a good swig, swallows, and stretches his mouth, sucking air in to mix with the beer’s taste. “How’s… your love life?”

“Sorting things out with Jordan,” she shrugs. “We may or may not get back together.”

She asks how big Zayn’s cock is and if he’s a good kisser, if his stubble hurts, what gets him horny, is he kind and is he always so beautiful? What she doesn’t ask is the most appreciated; she never once questions his sexuality or why he’s suddenly head over heels for a lad instead of a lady. So far, nobody’s been too brutal. There’ve been a few messages warning him of Zayn’s hectic ways, he’s such a bad boy, such a trainwreck. Niall’s been ignoring them for the most part, trusting that Zayn will take care of him like he hopefully takes care of Zayn.

“I’ve not actually seen anything below his belt,” Niall admits.

“But he’s gotten a stiffy while you’ve snogged, right?” she hedges. “Gaw, he must’ve. Look at you!”

Niall goes pink and nods.

“So?” she grins.

“Um,” Niall blushes, estimating a length between his hands, and her eyes pop.

He cackles as she whistles lowly, shaking her head and mumbling, “You are gonna _hurt_ ,” into her wine.

Niall and Jesy went to primary school together, and she’s been a part of his life ever since. In the last couple of years, though, they’ve drifted, found new friends with their age, and alcohol drums a sad sort of nostalgia into his throat that has Niall blurting out, “I’ve missed you,” like a total fucking dickwad.

“Aw, babe,” she coos, pressing against his side. “C’mon, you’re still my boy. Where do you sit at lunch?”

He leans into her because she’s taller (ugh) and presses the rim of his bottle to his lips, downing the last sip.

“If it’s cold, the art room, and if it’s warm, the stairs at the West side.” Jesy giggles and Niall nods. “Yeah, Louis like that. He’s always—” He makes the sign with his fingers and looks dramatically to the sky. “Um, and on Fridays, we got to the skate park.”

“And on Wednesdays, we wear pink,” Jesy quotes.

After they’re done throwing a few _Mean Girls_ lines back and forth, they unfold the blanket and lie back, watching the sky. Jesy reaches out and holds his hand and it’s the easiest thing in the world to remember how they used to be, when he didn’t go out with Holly, who didn’t like that he and Jesy sometimes held hands and goofed off together.

“I didn’t mean to keep it a secret,” he finally says, wincing at the way he sounds choked-off and tired. There’s a pause where the air gets colder and he glances to her. “Jesy?”

“I know, babe,” she sighs. “And you don’t have to explain yourself to me, y’know. Sexuality and love are amazing things, and… Fuck me, man. I don’t know. The world would be a better place if people just _didn’t care_ about other people’s relationships. Unless they’re, like, abusive.”

“You’re the coolest,” he smiles, kissing her hand.

She pouts smugly and the corners of her mouth tilt up, doing a proud wiggle before she rolls over and blows a raspberry onto his cheek. People are trickling out of the house in tow of a sofa being carried by two lads, a fair few of whom Niall recognises.

From the looks of things, Zayn’s had a couple more drinks than Niall, but that’s okay. It _is_ a party after all, and Niall can respect the allure of alcohol and getting absolutely shit-faced. Plus, Zayn looks relaxed and loose, strolling across the yard to scoop Niall up like a scene at the end of a romcom.

“Whoa, wait,” Niall exclaims. “I’ve had a beer!”

Zayn grimaces and lowers Niall carefully, apparently _just_ tipsy enough to kiss him for a little bit only to teasingly slip away to the circle of sofas and cushions on blankets. Danny’s got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and Niall catches Zayn’s hesitation when it’s offered to him, only to shake his head, sitting and patting the seat beside him, body tilted towards Niall.

“You having fun?” he asks quietly.

As Jesy places herself beside him, Niall nods, only for Zayn to frown.

“Lipstick,” he mumbles, licking his thumb and rubbing it against Niall’s temple. Niall pulls a face. “Aw, am I wiping away proof of your player ways?”

“Ugh, as if,” Jesy snorts.

Someone’s brought out a stereo that sits on the deck because the chord doesn’t stretch any further. _Price Tag_ bursts to life and catches everyone off-guard, though they all fall into the tune pretty easily, singing loudly and swaying, lyrics laced with giggles and the occasional burp. Niall is the only one who gets through the whole of _Party Rock Anthem_ without missing a word. It earns him cheers and a warm round of applause at the end, which he bows to while helping himself to his third beer. Liam and Sophia came out with everybody else but since neither of them drink, they decide to turn in early, calling a cab and going to the front to wait.

“A’right,” Zayn huffs, patting Niall’s knee when Liam gets up to leave. “Need’ta piss.”

“Same,” Jesy groans, pushing a hand through her hair. “One too many savvy-bees.”

Niall curls into the corner that smells like Zayn and the smoky woodfire that’s hushing into an orange glow, until someone puts a few itty bits of wood on again. He wonders if taking a cab back to his or Zayn’s for a drunk snog is out of the question. It shouldn’t be.

“Zayn _never_ shuts up about you,” Danny grumbles, barely hitching anyone’s attention away from their own conversations. The radio’s been turned down, now, replaced by the soothing buzz of drunken chit-chat.

“Good. Don’t want him to forget me, eh?” Niall grins, blaming the flush of heat on the fire.

“The only thing he _won’t_ tell us is whether or not you guys are doing it,” Stan adds.

Rather than chastising his mate, Danny pops a face-splitting grin, his eyes crinkling with it. “Have you fucked, yet?” he asks.

Niall laughs, startled, and shakes his head, “No.”

“Seriously? You’re missing out, Niall. I’m not gay or anything, but I’ve seen his arse naked enough times to know that it’s got to be a great shag,” Stan muses, hips wriggling just once before stilling. “You’ve _got_ to want it.”

“Aw, come on,” Niall coughs nervously. “That’s private.”

“Fair enough, but at _least_ tell me you’ve sucked him off,” Danny hedges. Stan’s tutting and their smiles get toothier, and _not a bunch of sharks_ briefly flashes in Niall’s ears. They make _aw_ -ing sounds that don’t sound sympathetic, chins tilted up, eyebrows raised to fit the cocked edge of their matching sneers.

At that, Niall sobers a little, keeping the smile but squaring his shoulders defensively. Where are Jesy and Zayn? “I, um, that’s not any of your business.” Only it rises at the end like a question, beer-weakened and unguarded. Maybe he shouldn’t have had some of Jesy’s wine, after all.

Danny snorts and says lowly to Stan, “So that’s a no.” His attention flicks to Niall again. “Have you had a single orgasm with him? Fuck, that’s sad. Are you one of those Catholic kids?”

Other people are starting to look, starting to pry with their eyes and ears and nobody steps in even though Niall thinks that they _should_. These people don’t know what’s going on. They don’t know how hard it hits when Zayn’s grinding on his leg and Niall knows that he should help him to get off or something but the nerves kick in. They don’t know how his gut twitches and tightens as Zayn gingerly holds his crotch when he leaves the bed to jack off in the bathroom. They don’t know anything.

He doesn’t say that, because he doesn’t want to fuck up in front of Zayn’s friends so he doesn’t piss them off by being shitty. He stands his ground and shrugs, “Yeah, but, like—“

“No sex till marriage? Bollocks. Zayn won’t stand for it,” Danny crows, and laughter erupts from the group.

“It’s not your business,” Niall repeats, harsher this time.

The warmth evaporates for a second from both of the other boys, then Danny’s face turns steely and mean.

“You’re a bloody virgin, aren’t you? Christ, mate. You’re lucky that Zayn’s not gone off with someone else, if he hasn’t already.”

Niall knows— He _knows_ that they’re just trying to start shit, trying to egg him on for no real reason, but he doesn’t understand, and like— He’s drunk and upset and he can’t hold back the sore ball that pinches his throat.

“Pussy,” Danny sniggers, chugging his beer and dropping the bottle to the grass.

The doors open and there’s Zayn, holding his hand up against the lights streaming onto the deck and trudging down the two steps.

“Mate,” Stan greets.

Zayn grunts.

“We’re just talking about you. Can’t believe you’ve not gotten your dick wet in three months, you poor bastard.”

At that, Zayn’s eyes narrow, halting just half a metre from the sofa and swaying a little as he does so.

“Who told you that?” he mumbles.

Danny gestures to Niall and Niall’s never felt so stupid, having played right into their hands like an idiot.

“Didn’t know that _prude_ was your type, mate,” Danny adds with a smirk.

“Um,” Zayn says, not moving.

He stays like that for the longest time and Niall’s poor, drunken heart chips. Zayn’s not standing up for him, not taking care of him like he’d said he would. They’re pissed and now all of Zayn’s friends know that they’ve never even… It’s _really fucking embarrassing_ , the humiliation simmering as they all wait for someone to say something.

Niall saves them the suspense, getting to his feet and making a beeline for the door. He heads straight through the house, avoiding bottles and recycling bins and the nagging, swollen bulge clawing at the base of his tongue like the nails digging into his eyeballs, and stumbles out the front door. He gets as far as the edge of the front lawn before a voice worms its way above the static roar crowding his thoughts.

“Niall, hey,” Liam smiles, concern weighing it down. “Where’s Zayn?”

“Erm, I’m going home,” Niall replies, trying to swallow and failing.

“Walking? Alone?” Sophia asks. “Would you like to share our cab?”

He’s cold. He’s forgotten his— _Zayn’s_ —jumper on the sofa and he’s tired. He’s never felt this way while he’s drunk. Being drunk is supposed to be fun, but right now all he can do is hold his breath to hold back tears and stop his heart from hiccupping so loudly, and it’s just a really, really shitty night.

Somewhere between Liam’s frown and Liam making to stand up, Niall feels the thick layer swelling on his waterline burst. The first hot drop lines his cheek and then another, and he can’t stop even as he presses his palms to his face and Liam holds him.

“Hey, you’re alright,” he whispers. “Where’s Zayn? Soph, could you…” He pauses as Niall shakes his head furiously, sobbing uncontrollably. “Never mind.”

“Is he alright?” Sophia asks, sounding a bit alarmed but soothing all the same with her hands and Liam’s hands easing him onto the step where they’d been sitting.

“I don’t know,” Liam admits. “Niall, what’s going on? Did Zayn say something?”

Niall tries to tell him that it was something that Zayn _didn’t_ say, but all that comes out is an awful, wet sob.

_Zayn’s not—_

_He didn’t—_

_He promised—_

“Christ Almighty, Niall.”

Jesy’s scooping Niall from Liam before he even looks up, and Liam makes a noise at the loss though his hands don’t leave his skin, slipping around his waist and rubbing his hip. Sophia’s fingers push back his hair.

“God, they’re nasty, nasty boys,” Jesy sighs, taking off Niall’s beanie. “Fuck ’em, Niall. Bloody arsewipes, they are.”

Niall finds that he’s being cuddled with his chin on Jesy’s boobs but he doesn’t care. Jesy is warm, voice kind and sweet like his mum’s, which only makes him cry harder. He wishes his mum was here. He wishes that Greg could come and pick him up, but Greg’s at a party of his own.

“What’s going on?” Liam whispers.

“A few of them were giving Niall a hard time because he’s a virgin,” she replies just as lowly, rocking Niall gently and rubbing his scalp.

The frown that Liam’s still wearing darkens. “Where was Zayn? There’s no way he would’ve sat through that.”

“Inside, with me. And to think… I was telling him, you know, that Niall’s precious to me and that if he dares be a dick then I’ll punch him in his pretty face.” She gives a rough, angry sigh. “He promised me, and then he just stood there, the fucker.”

Getting off the step, Sophia asks, “How do you know?”

“One of the people out back told me,” Jesy says.

“Alright, then. C’mon, Liam.” Niall peeks up to see Sophia’s offered hand and Liam taking it. “We’re going to have a chat with Zayn.”

Niall means to say _thank you_ and _love you_ and _don’t be too hard on him_ and _it was just Danny and Stan_ but all that comes out is, “Your cab…”

“You take it,” Liam says immediately. “We’ll call another one. Don’t even worry about it, babe.”

Niall nods, and Jesy coaxes him to his feet when the taxi shows up, digging around in her bag as they sit.

“I’ve got a pack of tissues,” she mutters by way of explanation, telling the driver Niall’s address and giving Niall a few wipes to mop up his face.

They’re halfway down the street when Niall turns around to see Zayn emerging from the house, and even from the distance he can see Zayn putting his hands behind his head and stumbling slightly, followed by a fuzzy figure and a daintier one – Liam and Sophia.

“That’s Zayn,” he mumbles.

“’S’at another passenger?” the driver asks, slowing the taxi. Jesy shakes her head and they go back to Niall’s.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Half a container of ice cream later—Niall momentarily thinks that Zayn would be appalled at the cliché, but then remembers that he’s cross with Zayn, and also that he’s eating said ice cream _because_ of Zayn, and proceeds to eat even more to spite him—they flop out on Niall’s bed.

“You staying the night?” he asks lazily.

“Would you like me to?” Jesy replies.

Niall thinks about it. His bed still smells like Zayn, like his Axe and his breath and whateverthefuck else he does to smell so fucking good that Niall wants to inhale him in two point four seconds flat, and if Jesy sleeps here, it’ll smell like her.

Once again, he’s hit by the fact that he’s pissed off with Zayn, so he says, “Yeah.”

“Good, because I am _way_ too full to leave,” she groans, rocking up so that she’s sitting. “I need’ta take off my makeup. Do you have face wash?”

“Yeah, ’s blue. There should be a new toothbrush in the top drawer.”

He cleans himself to a relatively acceptable standard once she’s done, spending at least half of his time in the shower just puddling about and not doing much of anything. He’s cried all of his stupid tears and eaten all of his stupid feelings and now everything’s a drag. When he finally falls into bed, the sheets feel like feathers and butterflies and orgasms.

“How are we doing this?” Jesy yawns, stripped down to one of Niall’s (clean) tee shirts and a brand new pair of boxers that he’d gotten at Tesco’s because they were striped green and it seemed funny at the time. She doesn’t have a bra on, he notices idly. “Because I _know_ you teenage boys, and I’m not waking up to morning glory being rutted into my arse, thanks.”

“Be the big spoon,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his nose. “I don’t give a shit. You know me, Jesy.”

“I do.” She turns onto her side and opens her top arm, the other propped around her stomach. “Alright, c’mon, then.”

He scoots up against her—not too close, just enough to feel her soft chest and the easy flow of her breath into his hair—and tries, attempts, _begs himself_ with zero success to not think about how he’d been in the same position not twenty four hours ago.

He has exhaustion and numbness to thank for the mere five minutes that it takes for him to fall asleep.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall manages to crawl out of his room before Jesy wakes up, mouth tasting of ash. He huddles over his phone while he’s on the toilet, considering opening one of the eight messages from Liam. He decides that he can’t avoid them forever—even though he had a drunken breakdown in front of him and his girlfriend, good Christ—and opens the first one.

> From: Liam — 2:21am: _zayn is reeeeeally sory and we told him off. he started crying bc he knows that ur sad_

> From: Liam — 2:38am: _he wont stop cryingg he wants to come over and explain ://///_

> From: Liam — 2:53am: _he is making too much noise and mum says he cant stay here bc ruth has a uni thing tmrw_

> From: Liam — 2:57am: _he says that if we drive him home he will walk to urs anyway and its cold and rainy?????? sorry but im gonna drive him to urs bc idw him to catch a cold or dieee_

> From: Liam — 3.14am: _we r outside??? u there??????_

> From: Liam — 3.16am: _nvrmnd ur brother puld up and let us in. we told zayn that ur sleeeping so we made a bed for him on ur sofa :( tell me if u need me to come ovr or u need anything? xxxxxx_

> From: Liam — 9:07am: _how is everything? u talked to him yet??_

> From: Liam — 9:10am: _oh wait ur prbbly still sleeping my bad soz babe xx_

Niall taps out a message and pulls up his boxers, hissing out swear words.

> To: Liam — 12:08pm: _Zayn’s in my house? Wtf????_

Almost immediately, his phone dings, so loudly that he’s amazed he wasn’t woken up by it in the night.

> From: Liam — 12:10pm: _yea soz :( hes downstrs on the sofa. we put a cover on him but he may hav kicked it off?_

Niall is still too tired for this. His eyes ache and his back’s sore, forcing himself to sit on the closed toilet seat and put his head between his legs for a bit and just _breathe_ before he figures out how to handle the situation. First, he needs a drink. And Jesy probably will, too.

He refuses to consider how Zayn will react to a girl in Niall’s bed.

Cautiously tiptoeing down the stairs with dread pitted heavily in his stomach, Niall tosses his options back and forth. What he’s feeling right now couldn’t even be classified as anger, and Niall realises—with an internal groan at the possibility of being an absolute doormat—that it never really was. Taking a page from his parents’ book, he was never angry, just _disappointed_ (and upset, and hurt, and staggeringly mortified).

As he rounds the corner at the base of the stairs, however, he catches sight of Zayn.

His every nerve plummets to a low murmur of want, like he could waltz on over, kiss his cheek and things could be okay.

But he has to talk about last night, about Zayn’s mates, and about _sex_. He has to pace the possible conversations in his head and think through all of the outcomes. Zayn could be really kind and understanding. Zayn could be a bit miffed, but accepting.

Zayn could be cross with Niall for embarrassing him.

That doesn’t seem fair at all, but Niall creates the scenario in his head, Zayn’s scowl stubborn and pissy. He thinks about what he’ll say, determined to not use _shit-brained_ or _cunty_ to describe Danny and Stan.

Convincing himself to be stern with Zayn is awfully difficult when he passes to drop off a glass on the coffee table for when he wakes up. Zayn looks cozy and soft and loveable, half of a duvet slung clumsily over his body while the other half has overflowed and lies on the carpet. His cellphone, wallet, and iPod are lined up on the table’s edge, so Niall puts the glass on the other side so that Zayn won’t knock it onto his things.

For one second he remembers his granny saying that if you’re taking care of someone even when they’ve pissed you off, you love them, and— Niall sort of wants to crumple onto the floor.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 9:19am: _I know that you probably don’t want to hear this, but Liam told us what happened. Pretty shit of Zayn, I know. He called me before Liam dropped him off and was seriously upset. Please go easy on him. He really feels like he’s let you down and that you’ll hate him for not protecting you. Love Louis and Harry .xx_

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Jesy’s awake when he creeps back through his door, blinking slowly and rubbing her nose into her pillow.

“Sleep alright?” he asks. His voice is shot from the mixture of ice cream and the extra shots he’d done with Jesy after they got back.

Taking the glass, Jesy shakes her head. “You farted last night. It was _foul_.”

“Sorry,” he shrugs as she finishes the water in three gulps. “Zayn’s downstairs.”

“Cut him,” Jesy says immediately, a drop leaking out the rim of the glass and racing down her chin until she wipes it away. “I’m serious, Niall. Cut the bastard and call it self-defence because his dickiness hurt you.”

“Dickiness sounds like what you’d call a gay king,” he comments.

“If you don’t hit him in the balls, I will,” Jesy grumbles, searching the floor for her clothes. She finds them and Niall turns away as she changes, hearing his clothes come off and hers go on.

“Liam dropped him off last night and he’s sleeping, Jesy. I can’t just wake him up with all guns firing.” He flinches as she pings a hairtie at him.

“Niall, you need to explain that you don’t want nor deserve to be treated like that by his friends, and that he needs to put an end to it and not just stay quiet,” she says as he pulls on a pair of trousers. “I’m going to go and put my makeup on, and you’re going to go downstairs and talk to him, alright?”

Niall huffs and sighs, his feet anchored to the floor only for Jesy to rip him away from the warmth of his room and nudge him towards the stairs. From the hallway, Niall can see that Zayn’s awake, rubbing his face and looking the worst that Niall’s ever seen him. His hair’s matted and greasy from not being washed after he put wax in it, his eyes have a hangover smudged under them in purple and near-black, and he looks all sorts of miserable. It gives Niall a sick sort of satisfaction that he blames (mostly) on Jesy.

“Niall!” Zayn says, dropping his hands to the sofa like he’s going to stand up the second he sees him.

“Morning,” Niall replies.

He may as well have slapped Zayn with the way his face falls, sadness and unsaid apologies overcoming Zayn in a heartbeat at the sound of Niall’s dull, distant greeting.

Neither of them offer a follow-up comment, and Niall feels a bubble of panic crawling up his throat.

“We should talk,” Zayn says after a long, long while of trying to catch Niall’s eyes while Niall does anything but look his way. “About last night, I mean.”

“After I’ve had breakfast, maybe,” Niall shrugs, dragging himself to the kitchen.

By the light padding that trails after him, Niall assumes that Zayn is coming through, too, and when he reaches under the counter for a frying pan, Zayn’s sitting at the island table.

Niall opens the fridge and takes out cheese, milk, and a carton of eggs. “D’you want an omelette?”

Zayn looks like he wants to say no, doing everything he can (not enough) to hide how devastated he is that Niall’s not smiley and chipper, but the way his stomach rumbles has Niall taking out eight eggs.

He cooks on autopilot, mixing things and heating the pan, dashing salt, grinding the cheese block against the grater and throwing a small handful each (along with two eggs and an unmeasured amount of milk) into four bowls. He pours one in and lets it bubble at the sides and curl brown, sliding the edges into the middle, tilting the pan and watching the liquid pool into the emptiness. Everything’s so mindless that he hardly stops himself from freezing when something brushes against the small of his back. It’s Zayn’s hand, Zayn’s body standing just shy of his side, Zayn who he shrugs off so he can go back to cooking.

“This one’s yours,” he mumbles as he folds it, sprinkling on a little more cheese and plating it.

“Thanks.” Zayn bites his lip and takes the plate. “It looks good.”

Niall looks at him for a while and thinks that maybe he’s being too mean, then recalls how he’d lost his breath when Zayn just _stood there_ and how he hadn’t been able to get it back.

“Eat it, then,” he says, tipping the second bowl into the pan.

When it’s served on a plate, Niall catches Zayn warily eyeing the two left. He ignores it and jogs up the stairs, putting the plate on Greg’s desk. Greg looks up from his textbook and grunts, “Whass’is for?”

“Don’t come downstairs for a bit, okay? Even if you hear yelling,” Niall pleads.

Greg squints at him, agreeing nevertheless because if there’s one thing that they have in common, it’s that they’ll do anything for food. On his way back, Niall knocks on the bathroom door and calls, “Omelette alright for breakfast, Jesy?”

“Yeah, babe,” she answers.

Zayn’s cleaned his plate when Niall gets back, still sullen and upset but more awake. He doesn’t ask who that omelette went to, or who the extra one’s for.

The third burns slightly more than it’s supposed to, just on one bit though, barely noticeable. Niall’s just slipping the spatula under one half to fold it when Jesy jogs downstairs. He turns around as she enters and smiles slightly, ignoring the hurt that slices across Zayn’s features.

“That mine?” she asks, leaning against the island with her back to Zayn. She pulls a fork and knife out of the drawer for herself and grins. “Looks amazing, Niall.”

“’S’not much,” he tries to say, only to get cut off by both Jesy and Zayn insisting, “It is,” her voice loud, his voice meek.

Jesy sits herself down and makes nice conversation with Niall, asking if he still does his own battered fish with wedges, if he could write down the recipe for the potato bowls he makes, and Zayn stares at the table, silent. Occasionally he shoots a pleading look to Niall, though if it’s for Jesy to leave or to be included in their _thing_ , their friendship and their nostalgia, Niall’s not sure.

Jesy licks her lips clean as Niall finishes his own breakfast, flopping it onto a plate and tucking in. Zayn looks like he’d really appreciate being swallowed up by his own jumper right about now, wiping his eyes and looking to the ceiling or the windows until Niall feels too guilty, too awful.

“I’d like to have that talk, Zayn,” he says as Jesy goes upstairs to grab her things. “Once Jesy’s gone, we’ll… We’ll sit down and talk, alright?”

“Yeah,” he nods, visibly relieved.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Jesy hangs in the doorway, eyes wide and understanding.

“You’ll call me afterwards, won’t you?” she asks. “I—I’m so sorry, Niall. I want to be your mate again, and it has to be said that this is a really shitty start to our renewed friendship.” She blinks up at the doorframe, trying to exchange her frown for a reassuring smile. “He’s a good lad, alright? Boys fuck up, that’s what they do. He thinks the sun shines out of your bum, though, and he slipped a little bit. Toss him a bone.”

Niall nods, burying his face in her neck when they hug, one last moment of clarity before the unease awaiting him in his living room.

“You’ll be okay,” Jesy says, stepping back and going off down his driveway.

Resisting the tight gasps that want to claim him, Niall sucks on his inhaler and holds it until his lungs don’t feel quite so heavy, and exhales. Zayn jerks when Niall comes through, scooting over on the sofa. Considering that he _could_ take the armchair opposite, Niall shakes his thoughts clear and tosses Zayn that bone, lowering himself to the other side of the sofa, so there’s room to talk without the distraction of touching.

Zayn looks at him with big, gaping eyes, mouth seamed like he doesn’t know how to ask, doesn’t _want_ to ask, but he still wants to know.

“I’m not pissed off with you,” Niall mumbles after a millennium. “I’m just upset.”

Zayn closes his eyes, dropping his head. “I think that’s worse.”

“Yeah, well,” Niall shrugs. He turns away from Zayn and slouches back into the safety of the cushions. “It is what it is.”

“I swear that I— Niall,” he whimpers softly. “They’ve been my friends forever. They’re not used to seeing me… like this, with someone.” He cautiously shifts his hand closer to Niall’s, lets it stop just a centimetre away. “I thought they’d be cool, like, they’d just be like, ‘Zayn really likes him,’ and leave it. What they said to you was awful.”

Niall can’t help but nod.

“And I’d had more than I should’ve. I was so desperate for them to get on with you, and Jesy caught me leaving and she talked about how much you like me and the way that you talk about me, and then I just walked out and listened to them give you shit, like a fucking prick.” Niall is startled by the way Zayn’s voice picks up from the murmur as he looks back up, bottom lip tucked into his mouth to stop himself from choking up. “I didn’t want to fight with them and I was too slow to catch up with you because, like, when you left, I was telling them that it wasn’t cool, really proper angry, and I’m— I’m really sorry, Niall.”

This has turned out to be _way_ more intense than Niall had expected, and of all his scenarios, he hadn’t planned _Zayn nearly crying_.

“Christ,” he breathes, leaning forward and sliding his fingers into Zayn’s hair like Zayn does with him. “I meant it when I said I’m not angry, Zayn. It was really embarrassing and I was a bit cross at the time, but I’m okay, now.”

“Yeah?” Zayn presses into Niall’s touch and rubs his eye. “I was a really shitty boyfriend, Niall.”

“A little,” Niall says apologetically. “I forgive you, alright? I still think that there are things we need to talk about, but for now, we’re good.”

“Like what?” Zayn murmurs. He’s testing the space, edging closer to Niall’s body and not looking quite so teary.

They stay like that for a while; Niall rubs Zayn’s scalp and even his earlobe, carefully navigating around the piercings, and Zayn’s eyes go from wide to hooded in about a minute. The tension dissolves along with Niall’s last ounce of energy, silence soothing his speeding heart.

“Sex stuff,” Niall mumbles. Zayn blinks. “We need to talk about… what happens next.”

Torso slumped so that his singlet crinkles on his tummy, Zayn goes to open his mouth and Niall gently cuts in.

“Not right now. Not after this much shit. Later,” he says with a tone of finality.

They’ll talk about it later.


	8. Stories to Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut. Yeah. Actual cocks. TBF, it's pretty short-lived, but there are also cocks in the next chapter.
> 
> Cocktastic.
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

“Hello, boys.”

“’Lo,” Niall grins. He sees Zayn lower his head in shame, and if Jesy notices, she doesn’t mention it.

“It’s colder than it’s supposed to be,” Jade huffs, nearly swallowed in her big, woolen cardigan. The sleeves of her black top poke out of the cuffs and she tugs them down so that they stretch over half of her hand, eyes lighting up. “Is that a heater? Is it on?”

Liam leans back, arm slipping from behind Sophia’s waist, and presses his fingers to the metal for a second. “Yes, it is.”

Jade seats herself so that she’s pressed against it, shrugging off her top layer and draping it over. She sighs in relief, lifting the hair from the back of her neck and ignoring Leigh-Anne's eye roll.

“Perrie’s g’nna be here a few minutes late. Ms. Lovato’s just going over some online work. _Fun_ ,” Leigh-Anne says. She pats Harry’s knee, friendly grin bright and cheeky. “How are you doing for English?”

“I’ve finished my bit already,” Harry shrugs.

“ _No_ ,” she says, disbelieving.

They chat away and, eventually, Louis lets go of the jealousy that fixes his jaw too tightly and joins in, all mulling over general school bullshit, figuring out exactly who’s fucked (Jade in History) and who’s a swot (Zayn in Art) and then, in a flurry of movement, Perrie swoops in.

“Hello,” she smiles, nose stud a faux-diamond that nearly matches her hair. “Gaw, ’s a fair bit cold. ’S’at heater on, Jade?”

Jade obliges and scoots over for Perrie to curl up against her.

“Oh, hi, Harry,” she says.

“Hi,” he says automatically, but the screw in his brow shows his confusion.

“I went out with Gemma,” Perrie explains.

“Oh my god, I remember that,” Harry sighs, returning her grin. “You had pink hair.”

Niall feels the drag of Zayn’s hand from his hip to the table that they’re sitting on, turning to frown. They’re not on a perfect road right now, though Niall’s made it clear that Zayn’s forgiven, and they’ve yet to have _the talk_ like they said they would, and sometimes Zayn doesn’t touch him as much as Niall remembers. Niall wants the touching back.

“You okay?” he asks.

Zayn chews his lip, ducking his head to murmur quietly, “I used to go out with Perrie.”

Eyes casting the blonde who’s shifted away from the heater a bit to include Liam and Sophia in the conversation, Niall blinks a few times. “You’re gay,” he whispers as he turns back to Zayn.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Zayn whispers.

Niall doesn’t quite— Well, he understands the concept of a beard, but the idea of _Zayn_ with a _girlfriend_ just seems so out of place.

“Hey, has anyone seen that video of the woman who had a blackhead for _twenty-five years_?” Perrie asks.

Their collective hunger dissolves quickly after Perrie shows them the video on her phone, and Niall decides that having more girls in the group won’t be such a bad thing.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall shifts to get a better angle on the paper, pressing a few words onto his sheet, humming as he goes. He’s nearly got this. Just a few more lines, another chorus, and he’ll be done with his writing and can move on to his favourite part – practice.

“ _Even stars in the night, they’re wrong, short days where the nights are long_ ,” he sings softly, scribbling out a note and replacing it, repeating, “ _Are long_ ,” a few times until he finds the right tone.

“How’s’at going?” Zayn asks, looking up from a woman in a hijab and the drawing of her that he’s started.

“Good,” Niall mumbles distractedly. “Yours?”

“Good, I think. I’ll need to draw it properly and get a compass for the target on her forehead, but I’ll do that at school.” Putting his pencils back in their case, Zayn presses up from the bed and nudges carefully at Niall’s shoulder with his mouth, a questioning kiss that lasts forever.

They’ve not snogged in the week since the party, though Zayn’s tried; he’ll get Niall into his lap and Niall will laugh nervously, and that’s when Zayn stops. He can _see_ how uncomfortable Niall is, and Niall can see Zayn’s disappointment again and again.

“We need to talk, first,” Niall says.

Zayn drops his forehead to the spot he’d kissed and leans there for a few seconds, reluctantly gathering himself up from where he’d been semi-primed for a bit of relief from the tension.

“Alright,” he says. “Okay.”

Niall props up his pillow and sits at the headboard, Zayn against the wall with his legs over Niall’s. He’s touchy when he’s sad, even though he won’t admit it, so Niall drops a hand to Zayn’s and holds him like that.

“You can start,” Zayn offers.

“Thanks.” Niall flicks his gaze up. “Straight to the point, I guess. What do you want?”

“Uh, I… What do _you_ want?” Zayn deflects.

“No, don’t do that thing. Don’t tell me what you want based on what _I_ want. Tell me… Do you want me to wank you off?” Niall racks his brain for words that come out in sync with the giddy pulse of his heartbeat. “D’you want me to blow you, or… I don’t know, Zayn. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.” He takes his hand back, pushing it through his hair.

A heavy red crawls up Zayn’s face, even going as far as to stain his throat with the ideas that Niall’s just thrown into the open.

“This is why we have to talk about it,” Niall adds quietly. “Because I’m not like you, Zayn. I don’t know anything, and you do.”

“ _Me_? I— Bloody hell, Niall,” he huffs sadly. “The first lad who fucked me did it a month after we started going out, and I’m not kidding when I say that it’s mostly been hook-ups and blow jobs with people who don’t call me back since then. I know just as much about how we go about _this_ —” He flicks his hand back and forth between them. “—as you do, alright?”

Between the words and the tone, Zayn’s voice comes out soft and young, and Niall realises that maybe they’re not so far apart in where they want to be. Maybe Zayn’s never pushed it because he’s been okay with this, too.

“You’re right,” Niall nods. “Sorry. Here, let’s try something else.” Stroking Zayn’s shin with his palm as he thinks, Niall shuts off the world for just a second. With a steady stream of memories washing over him, he meets Zayn’s curious gaze and says, “I like it when you kiss me.”

“Where?” Zayn asks, going pinker. “I mean, like… Where?”

Niall blinks down to his hands. “My mouth, my cheeks, my neck, my earlobes, and my collarbone.”

Zayn swallows and licks his lips thoughtfully. “Yeah? My turn?” Niall nods. “I… like when we’re like this,” he offers shyly. “I like how you smell, and how we can have fun, like, muck around when we kiss.”

Niall tries to remember when he started smiling and can’t, making an attempt to hide the cheeky hitch because, yeah, the odd playfight, laugh, or joke isn’t uncharted territory when they’re having a snog.

“I like how your hair looks when it’s down, like now,” Niall grins. “Makes you look like the artist type.”

“Really? You like this?” Zayn skims his fingers under his limp fringe. “Cool. Less effort for me.”

“Don’t you think it looks good?” Niall frowns. “I love it. You don’t have to change it if you don’t want to, obviously, but at the risk of sounding incredibly camp, your hair is amazing.”

“Thanks, love.” And Zayn’s actually _grinning_ , whole face brightened to the point where Niall beams right back, so natural and at ease. “I like how you look in hats. Snapbacks, beanies, you look great.”

Compliments are flicked back and forth; Niall likes Zayn’s comics; Zayn likes Niall’s shoes; Niall likes Zayn’s jackets; Zayn loves Niall’s confused face; Niall loves seeing Zayn’s art and watching him work; Zayn loves Niall’s voice, the way it sounds when he laughs or sings or hums or whispers; Niall loves how Zayn giggles, how he presses the tip of his tongue between his teeth and scrunches his nose up; Zayn loves how Niall shakes and throws his head back when he laughs; Niall loves Zayn’s accent, to which Zayn asks, “Which one?”

“All of them!” Niall insists, and Zayn snorts. “No, seriously, it’s a really interesting sound, like you’ve got stories to tell.”

Zayn’s eyes go soft, smile dimming comfortably and he says, into the quiet of Niall’s room, voice hushed like a secret but words like a promise, “I love _you_.”

The cheesy stereotypes hit Niall before the realisation does, and he opens his mouth to crack a joke, and then— Zayn _loves_ him. Zayn had fallen in love with him and Niall didn’t even notice it happening, his mind pacing back to try and find the moment _when_.

But then Niall remembers that it was never a sudden recognition, a conscious decision, when he fell in love with Zayn. He just loves people, and loving Zayn is so easy, and that Zayn feels the same way is unbelievable.

“I love you, too,” he says, breath escaping him before his brain has truly solidified with the information. He fumbles around for the inhaler in his beside drawer and sucks in a puff, Zayn’s hands warm on his back and knee.

“Y’alright?” Concern tints his smile at the edges but Niall nods it away.

“I’m fine, ’s just… You love me. That’s so cool,” Niall grins.

“Yeah, it is,” Zayn smiles, relieved.

“You know what else I love?” Niall whispers. “I love that you’re a cuddler.”

Zayn takes the hint, lying on his back and dragging Niall with him so that he’s on his side, Zayn’s arm fits snugly under his neck, Niall’s thrown over Zayn’s stomach. He thinks about kissing Zayn, maybe Zayn’s _expecting_ a kiss after such an important milestone, or maybe they’re just supposed to rest and wind down, or talk.

“The, um, the sex stuff,” Zayn starts, going up on the elbow that Niall’s not resting on. “I’m not g’nna lie and say that it doesn’t matter, b’cause, like, I _really_ like sex, and getting off with you sounds _brilliant_ , but… It can wait.” Niall lifts his cheek from Zayn’s chest, attentive. “I d’nno. I s’pose it’ll just be… whenever you want it. Whenever you’re ready, and I’m ready, we’ll start small with, like, hand jobs.”

“I’m ready for that,” Niall murmurs. “Not today, but we definitely could, I think.”

“It doesn’t have to be the next time that we’re… alone. We need to find the rhythm again after all that drama.” Zayn reaches up for the cord, dropping the blinds, and scoots down the bed a bit so that they’re eye-to-eye.

Even with a week of space pressed between them, they fit together just how Niall remembers—Zayn’s tongue firm, lips soft—and he’s remarkably calm for how ecstatic his whole body is, because finally he doesn’t have to worry. Zayn loves him back.

_Zayn loves him back._

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Why d’you have so many piercings?” Niall asks one day while they’re tucked into Zayn’s bed. They’ve blocked out the world with not one but two layers of curtains, a blanket, the duvet, and a couple of hot water bottles. Niall rubs his forehead into Zayn’s chest and slips one hand up Zayn’s shirt, thumbing over his nipple bar.

Zayn hums gently and holds Niall’s fingers there to cease the fiddling.

“Sensitive,” he pouts. Niall jabs him in the belly button. “Oi!”

“You like getting stabbed with metal but can’t take a poke?” Niall asks, and their teasing sounds almost too brash for the quiet that’s wavered steadily since he arrived, Zayn’s family having all gone out.

Zayn shrugs as well as he can, “I get a piercing every time something bad happens.”

Swallowing shallowly as his chest pinches, Niall scoops himself up carefully, knees tight against his chest. That wasn’t— He’d almost expected it, is the thing. Times where Zayn has tapped offhandedly at his empty packet of Marlboros when he’s not doing so well, or when he’s offered to take Niall to another party, have made Niall realise that he doesn’t know much about Zayn’s life prior to meeting him, and if Zayn has a bleak history…

Well, he’s barely sixteen. What’s he going to do?

“Is it a self-harm thing?” he asks in a small voice.

Zayn chews his lip for a second too long, like he’s trying to figure out whether to tell the truth, how to word it so that he doesn’t scare him.

“Please don’t lie,” Niall adds.

Just like that, Zayn shakes his head and reaches out for Niall’s hand, stroking from the jut of his wrist to his thumb’s first knuckle and back, saying, “No, love, it’s not a self-harm thing. It’s more of a…” He locks his gaze warily to Niall’s. “Lie back down with me.”

Complying because, like, Zayn’s really warm and he looks cozy, so inviting for cuddling and kissing, Niall sinks into the nest of cushions and covers.

“It’s my way of dealing with something, like, I’m not getting off on the pain. They’re a bit like… Boy Scout patches, yeah? Things I’ve survived. Things I’ve pulled my sorry arse out of.” He pats Niall’s thigh, palm tracing the outer seam of his sweats to his knee. “’Nd when I’m upset, I can look in the mirror and be like, hm, yeah, that happened. Cool. Moving on.”

Niall nods. “That makes sense. Inspiration, right?” he says lightly. A smile warms Zayn’s eyes, Niall shuffling half onto Zayn’s body and gently flicking Zayn’s left plug. “Whass’is, then?”

“When my dad lost his job when I was twelve,” Zayn replies.

Niall touches the right. “This?”

As easily as naming his favourite colour, Zayn says, “When my mum lost her job when I was thirteen.”

“And this?” Niall touches the small spike jutting out of Zayn’s eyebrow.

“When my cousin’s girlfriend had a miscarriage. She lost the baby at eleven weeks.” He puffs a shaky sigh to the ceiling, rubbing the curve of Niall’s shoulder. “She had a bump and everything.”

Niall offers a soft, “I’m sorry,” into the quiet.

They go through all of the ones on his face and neck – another eyebrow ring for getting bullied; his left snake bite for his first dog dying; a nose stud for his uncle’s cancer; his right snake bite for a friend who committed suicide; a bar over a knob of his spine for his grandfather’s death; and then there’s the array of silver and gold threaded through cartilage, trailing down the shell of his ear to the plugs.

“These ones?” Niall whispers. He almost doesn’t want to know, but he has to, he _has_ to know what’s happened even though there’s no way he can fix it. He’s stopped saying sorry with every secret lining Zayn’s body and started just holding him tighter, getting closer.

This question makes Zayn’s breath stiffen, the jut of his jaw clenched, voice icy.

“My auntie and uncle are living in America and they got attacked,” he answers, almost spitting the words with how obviously disgusted he is. “They’re both Pakistani so it wasn’t random, all that hate-crime fuckery bullshite.” He licks his teeth before he continues and Niall can’t catch his eye so he draws on Zayn’s skin with a tentative finger, ear to Zayn’s ribs so he can hear him, all of him.

Then Zayn continues, no less angry than before. “They pulled through, which is good, but they were pretty banged up. Me and my mum and sisters went over to take care of the kids and stuff while police found the sick cunts who did it.” He sighs hard to calm himself, and says quietly, “It’s fucking ridiculous. They got them, right, these eighteen-nineteen year old guys, and you know what they said? They said that the cops should be _happy_ that they got two more _Pakis_ off the street before they blew something up.” He brings a hand up and pinches his ear, rubbing it, and Niall recognises the motion as a comfort thing that Zayn does when he’s upset.

“I got one for every surgery on my auntie on this ear, and one for every surgery on my uncle on the other,” Zayn finishes. His eyes are flushed like he could cry. Niall’s never seen Zayn cry.

“That’s awful,” he finally says. “That’s really fucking shitty.”

Zayn agrees, a sad little frown weighing on the corners of his mouth. Looking at him feels wrong, an ache digging deeply into Niall’s lungs and spreading like a poison, because it’s intimate and new and… and…

Niall’s angry _for_ him.

He thinks about Zayn, gay and Pakistani and Islamic, a perfect target. He wonders if anything happened to him in America and realises with a deflating boulder in his gut that nothing would _have_ to happen with the way the media alone treats people like Zayn, like minority is synonymous with _inferior_ and _evil_. Zayn sniffs and rubs his face, sobering up quicker than Niall’d thought possible.

“You know I got my nipple pierced right after I kissed you though, right?” Zayn cracks, a brave attempt to ease over this stutter.

Niall sits upright. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Just like that, they’re laughing, rolling around and giggling and it’s okay, they’re okay. Zayn’s eyes are the perfect shade of gold-flecked warmth, the shade burning in the low of Niall’s tummy, grin lovely, soft.

“It means that my little sister got chicken pox, numpty,” he snorts, flopping onto his side and dragging Niall with him.

Niall nods, making a show of not believing a word. Zayn’s lips zip into a tight line of playful frustration at the skepticism.

“Any others I should know about?” he asks as Zayn goes to protest.

And then it gets quiet, sweeping in so quickly Niall backtracks to make sure he’s not said something wrong, and then it hits like a splash of lava. Zayn blinks up at him and then away – it’s enough to make Niall panic, enough to make his blood race.

“I’ve got my dick pierced, if that’s what you mean,” Zayn says.

“Oh.” Niall’s own dick tingles at the mere mention of Zayn’s. “Do I… want to hear the story?”

“’S not much of a story,” Zayn admits, though it must be, Niall thinks. People don’t just get their knob pierced for a laugh.

Or maybe they do? Niall doesn’t know much about knob piercings.

Zayn drops his hand to his own thigh, stating, “I lost my virginity.”

Niall’s brain sort of empties and immediately wonders how old he’d been, if it’d been romantic or drunk or both. He doesn’t know shit about teen sex outside of telly and a scraggly old PE teacher slapping pamphlets on his desk at school preaching condoms and the pill. How many people has Zayn had sex with? Does he get fucked or do the fucking?

“Didn’t get pregnant and die, then?” he smiles instead of voicing the whirlwind of _what if_ s and _how_ s.

Zayn rolls his eyes, not in a mean way.

“I lost it in the wrong sort of way. I wasn’t being honest with anyone, like, even me, and I just went with it thinking, ‘Yeah, I can get off on this,’ and that was that.” A sad sort of nostalgia colours his words and Niall ducks his head. “She was my girlfriend and I thought I was ready and that, riding on the idea of what kind of guy turns down sex?”

“So you’re not a virgin,” Niall says, not a question.

Zayn shakes his head.

Inhaling through his nose and nuzzling in against his ribs, Niall slips his hand carefully under Zayn’s shirt and strokes his hipbone. “ _I_ am.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Zayn snickers.

“Heyyy. Not cool.”

It’s when Niall’s pouting—he knows he is, dear God, chalking it up to how much time he spends surrounded by Louis and his loud, boisterous presence—with his eyes narrowed and trying hard to look grumpy and offended when Zayn leans up and kisses him, and it’s definitely something that Niall will never get tired of, he thinks. His mind flickers back to their train of conversation and, almost involuntarily, he starts talking again;

“What else have you done?”

Clearly intent on sneaking a quiet snog while his sisters have all been ushered out by Trisha (to “give the boys their private time”) (to which Niall blushed horrendously red) Zayn huffs quietly.

“Do I get a proper kiss if I tell you?” he asks, mostly teasing but… not.

Niall gives a nod. That’s fair.

“Fine, but I’m holding you to it, yeah? We can’t procrastinate forever,” he grins. “Alright, my sex life. Where do I begin?”

“With Perrie,” Niall answers. To Zayn’s surprised look, he adds, “It was Perrie, wasn’t it?”

He’s heard rumours, seen her in his maths class last year and how she laughs, how beautiful she is. Niall even fancied her when she sat beside him one lesson as her friends all buddied up, whispering, “Tossers,” and they’d giggled together.

“Yeah, it was,” Zayn eventually says. “I must’ve been… yeah, about fifteen, and she’d just turned fifteen, too. I remember the first hand job she gave me, at a party that Louis’ boyfriend was throwing. And when we decided to make love for the first time…” There’s a pause as he swallows thickly, remembering something that many teenage boys would boast about for their highschool lives whereas he’s going pale at the thought. “She was so impressed by how long I lasted, like, there are all those stories about lads nutting off thirty seconds into their first go, but to tell the truth I was just too nervous and turned off to finish.”

“And then there were boys,” Niall guesses.

Zayn’s answering laugh is soft, a gentle breath tilting his lips into a small smile. “Well, first there was this guy, Luke, who was out and flamboyant, into fashion and shit. I thought he was such a prick, but then he showed me how to put studs on my jacket and… I don’t know. He was the first one I told about being gay, and he was on speed dial when I told Louis. God, he was so bloody pissed off about being second.

“Anyway, there was a party and another guy started chatting me up and then he just kissed me, like, in front of everyone, and I was so… _angry_ ,” Zayn sighs, squinting like he doesn’t get it, himself. “I don’t think anyone really properly saw except for Luke. He, like, comforted me for days while this other guy kept hassling me, like, ‘I know you’re gay, stop fucking around, go out with me.’ It was really dicky.

“Luke and I got closer, started seeing each other more, ’nd one day he was like, ‘I fancy you,’” Zayn continues, adding the last part with a tinge of falsetto. “He was just my mate, really, but I didn’t wanna lose him, so we went out and the more I saw him, the more I liked him, and before I knew it he was my second kiss with a boy and then my proper first time.”

Niall grins and says, “Your life’s really interesting.”

“Interesting’s not always good.” Then, “I’ve slept with a couple of people since Luke, hooked up with a fair few lads at parties and that, fucked and been fucked, just ’cause it’s fun, I s’pose.”

“I’m not judging you,” Niall frowns immediately, because the way Zayn says it is like he needs to justify himself, like Niall is so high and mighty. He makes a mocking wrist-flick and splays his fingers out on his chest, over his heart. “I’ve kissed a girl, _and_ a boy. And the boy wasn’t even my boyfriend! He wore a chain on his belt, had a streak in his hair… Man, those were rebellious days.”

Zayn swallows a giggle.

“Oh yeah?” he nods. “He wore jeans that were too bloody tight, I bet.”

“Exactly,” Niall sniffs. “What a time to be alive. What a loser I was.”

Zayn launches at that moment, the pair of them squabbling and cackling between determined looks and wild limbs. Niall struggles a bit daftly at first but then they really get into it, the gentle push-shove becoming a heave and throw, until their breathing quakes and Niall wonders if grabbing his inhaler would be a mood-ruiner, since the rush through his body vaguely resembles horniness despite the boyish roughhousing.

He’s on his back all of a sudden and Zayn’s thighs are split over his hips, arse snug against Niall’s quickly thickening cock.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants.

Zayn bobs his head, looking smug and shiny and all the sorts of beautiful that words can’t form, like he’s just been for a jog or—

Or had a good fuck.

“Yeah, you’re pretty tough, blondie,” he grins, and he shifts, getting comfortable, and—

“ _Oh_ ,” Niall hums, and promptly claps a hand over his mouth.

Blinking just the once, Zayn catches on, going a bit pink himself as he says, “Oh, shit. I didn’t realise.” He scoots further away and Niall has a hard time not tilting his hips up into the warmth, into the curve between Zayn’s legs.

He wants to drown himself in a shower when Zayn moves off and the obscene bulge in his jogger bottoms pokes up, on display, Niall shooting a hand down to clutch around himself even though Zayn’s already seen. Zayn’s fingers shudder and twitch where they’re locked in the sheets.

“I could take care of that,” he murmurs thickly.

Gaze flicking up briefly for an answer, Zayn fits the square of his palm on his own crotch, pressing for a bit and then releasing.

“In a second,” Niall finds himself saying, startled by the croak in his own voice. He’s going to let someone see—and touch—his dick for the first time and that’s pretty fucking terrifying but also really fucking hot.

Zayn climbs over him, nudges in till he’s bracketed on either side by Niall’s knees. It’s just right, the warmth that presses through their sweats good motivation for Niall’s dick to keep interest, how Zayn applies and eases the weight while they kiss. His tongue flicks against the roof of Niall’s mouth where it’s electric, right behind his teeth, and in no time he’s whining and shoving up like he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get off.

He’s sure that it’s not supposed to happen this fast, certain that his inner thighs are too delicate for the scrape of cotton as Zayn rubs against them. He feels so good, though, and he wants—needs—it to be good for Zayn, chafing be damned.

The intense pounding of warmth skitters and blazes. He’s never been so turned on in his life, and he’s too excited, probably, but he can’t help himself anymore.

“Zayn,” he hisses, thighs narrowing in on the slim of his waist.

That’s all it takes and Zayn changes position, swinging one leg over so they’re gridlocked, grinding into him in a zap of movement. His mouth goes rough and hot against Niall’s and their breath in eager pants, and Niall’s legs are shaking, he can feel Zayn’s cock, oh God, oh _fuck_ , bloody hell. He’s tried it before, rubbing himself over his jeans to see how much he can take before it isn’t enough and he has to shove a hand down his trousers, but it’s _never– been– like– this—_

He realises how much he’s trembling when Zayn gives a strangled moan and everything goes fuzzy around the edges with how close he is, how easy it’d be to jerk his hips just right and come. He tightens his thighs around Zayn’s, but to his dismay Zayn pulls back, sweaty around his forehead and chin.

“How about now?” Zayn clarifies by gripping Niall’s cock—as much as he can through the fabric—and stroking, rubbing his thumb into the tip.

Even knowing he has a snowball’s chance in hell of lasting at all, Niall nods. Their fingers tangle in the flurry to get Niall’s sweats down his thighs and Niall’s fucking up against the press of Zayn’s hand the moment it slides under his briefs, gripping his ridiculously hard dick as Niall pants and fucking _whines_ into Zayn’s neck.

That’s how he comes, rutting and humping into Zayn’s fist, toes curling and thighs pinching together as his cock kicks off. His entire brain’s gone numb and he was too loud, probably. He loosens the python-tight grip he took in Zayn’s tee shirt and he’s still panting.

When he opens his eyes just the slightest, Zayn’s barely moved, and Niall doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him. His eyebrows are narrowed in but his eyes are defeated, disappointed.

Even so soon after coming, Niall’s regretting it. He should’ve calmed down. Should’ve waited.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I— Nobody’s ever said that they’ve wanted to,” he pauses to catch what breath he can when he’s still pulsing with sparks, “wank me off.”

Niall gingerly traces Zayn’s eyes down to his crotch, the white of his pants wetted translucent and stretched over his hypersensitive balls, tip and half of his shaft laying just shy of his happy trail which is dotted with spunk. Jesus, that’s so fucking embarrassing. Zayn doesn’t look impressed or turned on, a sharp slap in the face when Niall thinks to just a couple of minutes ago when he’d had to hold himself through his trousers for relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers again.

It’s like the gears spur to life, Zayn starting suddenly with a quick, short breath sucked in through his nose.

“No, it’s okay.” He blinks slowly and finds Niall’s face, voice dipping into something nicer, calmer, a shy smile blooming. “We can work on it, yeah? You won’t mind the practice.”

Niall’s body simmers as he relaxes into the nest of scuffy cushions and duvets. “Yeah,” he muses.

A troubled crease works into the corner of Zayn’s mouth, and Niall looks and— Zayn’s still got a stiffy, having trouble hiding it in the slack of his joggers. Niall frowns guiltily. He’d be all over the place, but Zayn just got him off and it’d be really, really unfair if he didn’t, and yet his hands stay rooted to the bed.

He’s not ready.

He’s just had a thigh-trembling orgasm after next to nothing, he’s sleepy, he’s pushing his sensitive, still fat cock into his pants and yet his body manages to throw him into an internalised fit of nerves that bubble and fizz unpleasantly against the lining of his stomach. He thinks about Louis’ jokes and Zayn’s big, hard dick, because—Niall confirms with a twist of delight and worry— _they had not been joking_.

“I’m—” Zayn backs off, smile turned sheepish. “I’m not g’nna make you return the favour. I’ve got to take care of this, though.”

Zayn hesitates like he expects Niall to say something, to protest – to _offer_ , and when he doesn’t, Zayn slips off the bed and down the hallway. Worries coming in quick jabs, Niall fusses about with the pillows and blankets before collapsing into them. Is it too weird to sleep off the post-hand job excitement? Niall thinks that it probably is, and focuses all of his attention on not dozing off.

He watches Zayn stumble back in, trying to keep his cool and failing, and grins as Zayn crumples on his own bed. His sharp cheekbones boast a quiet tinge of pink that creeps up his temples, framing his lovely, hooded eyes. Niall mourns the loss that came at his own hand; he could’ve jerked Zayn off and seen what made him this way. He could’ve watched Zayn come.

“’M sorry,” he mumbles for what seems like the umpteenth time.

Zayn blinks and his eyelids shutter against the light before he finds Niall. The honey-speckled hazel fills out, pupils still an inky black, and half smothered by the pillow he says, “Stop saying that you’re sorry, yeah? Just… You’re nervous. That’s alright. We’re good.”

“We’re good?” Niall echoes slowly.

Zayn nods, which turns into him rubbing the side of his face into his pillow, and motions for Niall.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” Zayn warns. “I’ve still gotta… clean the kitchen before Mum gets back.”

So they talk quietly and Niall finds that he doesn’t feel quite so useless, like it’s okay to be timid. He’ll get there one day. He’ll get there with Zayn, and it’ll be good.

“You’re lovely,” he says without even thinking about it. It’s true; Zayn is lovely and kind and really, really patient, and Niall adds, "I love you," into Zayn's neck.

“So’re you, and I love you, too,” Zayn replies, grinning. With the sleepiness setting in, some parts of him look blurred, feathered around the edges, everything softer than Niall remembers. “You should see yourself when you smile like that. Very pretty.” He thumbs along Niall’s jawline and ends up at his ear, fingers splaying behind it and drawing in, scratching and rubbing at this scalp how Niall likes. “I’m sorry about the party.”

Niall blinks slowly and shrugs. “Shit happens.”

“Yeah, but they were being shitty and I let them, for a bit,” he mumbles. “They’re my mates. I didn’t think they’d be such dicks to you.”

“You told them afterwards, though. That’s cool.” Niall licks his lips. “You should talk to them.”

“Are you serious?” Zayn grimaces.

Smoothing a hand over Zayn’s side, Niall nods. “Yeah. They’re your mates. They were drunk, and… I don’t know.”

“Niall, y’can’t let people walk all over you and then just forgive them,” Zayn sighs, and somewhere, buried underneath his words, is the underlying guilt that says _like you forgave me_. “ _I_ can’t have people walk all over you and then just forgive them, either.”

“Ask them to apologise,” Niall says. “And if they do, you can be friends again, right?”

“Right,” Zayn grumbles, looking less pleased at the prospect than Niall’d thought he would be.


	9. Wanking Off a Red Jelly Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are my own, and I'd appreciate it if you dropped a comment, even if it's just
> 
> "[whatever I wrote]"  
> *[correction]
> 
> About the dyeing: I wanted to show how having Zayn around is affecting the way Niall sees himself, but also how he wants to be seen. And, um, who doesn't like Lilac Niall? 1D Day, anyone?
> 
> Happy reading, lovelies!
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

Amidst the regular teenage tragedies—Nathan finished with Arianna, and Taylor was told that she can’t perform her song _Better than Revenge_ at the talent show, and now she’s in trouble for bullying, so naturally it’s all very high-tension and dramatic—Niall gets a haircut, and there’s a big hand-in for all art subjects. Niall spends at least fifty percent of his time mucking about on his guitar and the other fifty trying to rope someone into critiquing his lyrics. Harry’s too nice about the whole thing, and Louis’ too busy with football, and Liam knows nothing about music, and Zayn’s practically a bundle of stress with how much he’s freaking out over the Tell Your Story assessment.

His comic has come together really well, with only outlines and narration left for it to be complete. He’s painted in the white boxes under each panel, tracing letters in pencil and then Sharpie. Niall is so, so proud, watching silently while Zayn works, fixing tiny imperfections, flicking the pen to add texture to the edges of the monsters’ fur, obsessing over details and aiming for perfection.

Eventually, Niall turns to Perrie, who’s taking both music and art. She happily obliges since she’s finished both of her projects, listening to Niall practice and pointing out things he hadn’t really thought of.

They don’t always talk, but Perrie has finished her maths homework and is sketching while Niall plays, so between them it’s a fairly open court for conversation.

“Did Zayn tell you about me?” she asks offhandedly, and Niall stops tuning his guitar.

“Um, yeah,” he blushes.

“What’d he tell you?”

Shrugging his shoulders with his thumb stroking his guitar’s side, Niall says softly, “Just that you were his first, really.”

Perrie nods, returning the room to a steady quiet amidst the hum from the other music rooms. She has pink lipstick on, today, and a silver nose stud. Niall thinks about Zayn’s nose stud, wonders if he can text Zayn after school so he can come over and play with Prada, or if Zayn’s with Louis.

“Did he tell you that he broke up with me a week after we fucked?”

There’s no snide to her tone, no aggression behind the hurt. She sounds sad, like she didn’t heal from it, though she’s had other boyfriends – Niall’s seen her kissing someone else a few weeks ago, and holding hands with him in the hallway. And then there’s Gemma…

 _Fucked_ bounces around his ears, crashing so hard into how Zayn had said _made love_.

“No, he didn’t,” Niall says.

“Yeah, well.” Perrie pins back her curtain of curls with her hand at the nape of her neck, swallowing. “You’re very nice, Niall. Jesy talks about you all the time. She loves you so much, you know? Zayn may’ve changed, but if he hasn’t… It wouldn’t be fair for me to not’ve said anything, right?”

Niall nods, because that makes sense. Perrie doesn’t sound bitter at all.

“Then again, maybe I’m just a special case because he’s gay,” Perrie continues with a quiet laugh.

“That could have something to do with it,” Niall agrees, letting the smile tint his face.

At the end of the third hour that they’ve spent practising, Perrie says, “I’m really happy that we’re mates, yeah? And for you and Zayn. I mean it.”

“Yeah, Pez, of course,” he says, and holds back the questions that burn his throat.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Stan and Danny have apologised to Zayn (and Louis, who involved himself by marching up to Stan and bitching him out for being a “cruel, manipulative sod” along with a few more swear words), though he remains bitter nevertheless about their less-than-impressive treatment of Niall. Honestly, it still hurts, but Niall’s willing to let it slide because everybody’s entitled to a fair few fuck-ups.

Anyway, now’s not the time to bring it up, because Niall’s being hunted by two paws under Zayn’s bed that nip at his toes or anything else that happens to touch the floor.

“Aw, look,” Niall gasps, and a little, pointed nose—followed quickly by two big ears—squeeze out from under the frame.

“Chicken, Prada. You _love_ chicken,” Zayn whispers excitedly.

Prada jogs over mindlessly, focused one hundred percent on the cooked piece of breast pinched between Zayn’s fingers. She opens her mouth and tries to take it away to snack in a corner of Zayn’s room, but Zayn shakes his head, scooping his hand under her little belly and pressing her against his chest.

“No, not after the mouse I found, baby girl,” he says. Prada jerks her head around in search of the chicken, oblivious to anything else. Zayn seats himself at his desk chair and tears off tiny pieces so that Prada won’t be tempted to store a chunk under his bed. He holds the chicken high so that she has to go up on her back feet, dropping once he lets go. Niall watches each time, cackling when the kitten drops too hard on Zayn’s balls.

Zayn lets go of the meat to rub a hand over his crotch, wincing, scowling as Prada bounces up onto Niall’s lap instead, gnawing the breast chunk over his knee. He laughs harder at the look on Zayn’s face, having it echoed back at him sarcastically.

Finished with her meal, Prada butts her head against Niall’s belly button.

“Pretty girl, look’t you,” he hums, running his hand down her chest, where she’s softest. “Nice big tummy.”

“The girls have been feeding her too much,” Zayn says.

Niall gives him a _look_.

“ _One_ bit of chicken won’t make a difference,” he adds defensively.

Dodging his attempt to pick her up, Prada leaps gracefully from the loop in his arms and kneads into Zayn’s pillow instead, eyes slit and directed at Zayn like a dare. He doesn’t make a move to stop her, so Prada continues, purring in victory as she presses her claws back in.

“Bloody cats, man,” he gripes in his Pakistani accent.

“I think she’s sweet,” Niall coos, holding his hand up for Prada to shove her head against. “Aw, she likes me.”

Zayn promptly clears his throat and flips the bird, looking around innocently as Niall snorts before refocusing on Prada. He curls up beside her, pushing his hand under her arm until she rolls over, fluffy belly up and ready for a tickle.

“Maybe she just doesn’t like bad boys,” Niall mutters.

“Maybe she just, like, has bad taste.”

Niall makes a face at Prada. Prada squeaks and mewls against his palm.

“So, like, you know the party?” Zayn asks, resting his feet on the mattress.

“This _again_ —” Niall starts to groan.

“No, please don’t,” Zayn says softly. “I want to ask you a few things that I can’t get out of my head. I just— If I ask, I’ll know, and I’ll be able to get over it, yeah.” His voice goes tight, like he has a clasp on his throat, and it’s making Niall’s heart valves twist.

“Sure, Zayn. Whatever you want to know,” Niall smiles easily.

Propped up on one elbow, Niall watches Prada’s wide, pink tongue flick up over her paw, because when Zayn’s nervous, he doesn’t want to be watched. He likes the quiet, being able to collect his thoughts before he puts them out in the open, and Niall can respect that privacy.

“Can you tell me exactly… what happened?”

Niall blinks. “You know what happened, don’t you?” But he never told Zayn. Louis told Zayn.

“Not from you, I don’t,” Zayn says, eyes soft.

“Well.” Cuddling up to Prada, Niall catches Zayn’s gaze and holds it gently. “They waited until you went inside, and they were like, ‘Have you fucked?’ and I told them that we hadn’t, and they kept asking questions, and I didn’t answer, so they guessed.”

“What were they asking?”

It’s so difficult when Zayn’s guarded like this. Niall knows that Zayn does this to shield Niall and not himself, his Big Brother mode ever-present and active, and sometimes Niall just wants to tell him to drop it and be angry or sad or whatever he wants to be, and instead, he says, “If I’d sucked you off, if I was Catholic, if I’d actually… if we’d had any orgasms together.” He presses the twitch of hurt down. "They said they'd not be surprised if you'd cheated on me."

Zayn rubs his nose and takes a worn breath.

“And then they said that they didn’t know that ‘prude’ was your type,” Niall finishes.

Zayn’s nodding, now, having remembered that one bit despite his drunken state at the time.

“And then I found Liam in the front garden.”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles. “And Jesy.”

“And Jesy,” Niall amends.

Coughing slightly, Zayn tucks back into his mind, the movement of his gears visible even though Niall can’t read them. Zayn chews his bottom lip shiny and slightly swollen red. “Jesy’s been your friend for years, hasn’t she?”

“Since primary, yeah,” Niall says.

“And she came home with you when you left Danny’s,” Zayn adds.

And _that_ , Niall catches; the residue regret and guilt from that night nearly a month ago that Zayn’s bottled up and kept stacked behind the giggles and whispers of _I love you_. Jesy—not Zayn—left with Niall. Jesy took care of Niall.

“Yeah, she came home with me, but nothing happened. We ate ice cream and slept.” Niall stretches for Zayn, who’s kneading his lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Aw, c’m’ere, you big sook.”

He holds Zayn through the silence, and through the fingers that bunch up in Niall’s top he can feel the last ebbs of hurt release and— Zayn looks up at him.

“I’m sorry. It’s so stupid,” he mumbles. “This is old news.”

“If it bothers you then it’s important,” Niall frowns.

“It doesn’t bother me anymore,” Zayn murmurs. “Now that I know from you.”

“Aw, that’s cheesy,” Niall groans, grinning despite it.

Zayn pokes him in the nipples and belly button, saying, “Shut up, dick. We’re having a _moment_.”

“Sorry,” Niall says sheepishly. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea.”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall’s great idea consists of taking their bikes back to Niall’s house, and Niall doing his best (and failing) to not go face-down and arse-up (and Zayn, naturally, slaps his bum for it) as he searches underneath his bed. Behind a couple of dirty magazines, lube, and a tissue box, as well as his runners, he finds the box that’s been collecting dust for a little while. He proudly holds it up to where Zayn’s seated beside him.

“Shit. Okay.” Zayn takes the dye. “’S temporary, right?”

“Yeah, see? Says here, ‘Temporary’. It’s the same brand as yours,” Niall grins.

“Yeah, I know,” Zayn says. “I had this colour when we met.”

Niall hadn’t thought about that when he’d stood at the hair dye section of the shop, surrounded by the long stretch of racks and tables boasting new styles and this season’s wear. The shop lady had helped him choose it, suggesting that he get the sides of his hair trimmed and leave the top long and just dye that.

So he’d rocked up at the barber’s with a set plan, which was either going to go pretty well or pretty badly. Niall just figured that, worst case scenario, he’ll wear a snapback or beanie until his hair goes back to normal.

“Are we dyeing it today?” Zayn asks eagerly, eyeing Niall’s hair.

“Just the long bits,” Niall says.

“Sick. This is g’nna be wicked.” Zayn stands up and reaches out for Niall. “We need a cheap towel. Aw, love, you’re g’nna look so _cool_.”

Even as they search the cupboard for an old sports towel or something, Niall beams with pride, a reflection of how ecstatic Zayn looks at the prospect of painting Niall’s hair violet.

The smell is a bit strange since the packet promises no ammonia. Niall watches as Zayn rolls one tube from the end to the top, squeezing bright-purple goo into a bottle, twisting the nozzle on and shaking while Niall smears Vaseline around his hairline.

“You’re good with this, yeah? It won’t be as bright as the colouring, but it’ll be like on the box because you’ve already got blond hair,” Zayn says, adjusting the gloves at his wrists.

“Of course I’m good with it,” Niall says.

Zayn squirts out enough dye to pool in his palm, rubbing his hands together and easing them back and forth through the middle of Niall’s head. He stays clear of the longer bits at either side, saying that he’ll need to use the brush that Niall bought to get those as it’s such a delicate line. Zayn’s fingers twirl little spikes up into an Eiffel Tower, a horn, and a comb-over before he finally has more dye in his hand, dipping the brush in and carefully navigating it along the edge of Niall’s hairline.

“This looks like it’s going to be a _great_ colour,” he says, voice slowed in concentration. “Good pick, love.”

Niall grins at Zayn’s reflection, doing everything he can to not _bounce_ out of excitement.

“Okay, I’ve used half the amount, and it’s supposed to cover shoulder-length hair, so you should be fine.” Zayn snaps off the gloves. “That’s got to be in for, what, half an hour? Yeah, it says half an hour. Alright, cool.”

Zayn’s hand meets Niall’s bum, and from then on it’s like he can’t be detached, locking onto Niall even though they can’t snog properly because of the dye. Zayn pins back his own hair, and Niall’s is already slicked, and they slot themselves together on the floor for at least half of the waiting time.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Louis is the first to notice (like always) and is quickly followed by Harry, and in less than two seconds, the whole group is alerted.

“Jesus Christ, Niall,” Louis gasps, scrambling to his feet and holding Niall’s face.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” he grins.

“Looks fantastic,” Harry agrees, pushing his thumb into the edge of lilac, where Niall’s hair gives way to the brown, shorter bits. “Did Zayn pick the colour?”

“No, but he did all the dyeing stuff. I only would’ve fucked it up.”

Zayn pats his knee as his sits, tucking himself around Niall, the backs of his knuckles brushing down Niall’s ribs. The whole day he’s like that, even holding Niall back while they wait for the hallways to empty so that he can dip in and snog him breathless, and then he invites himself back to Niall’s house so that they can snog some more.

“I’m going to have a saliva overdose or something,” Niall jokes as he downs half a glass of water.

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbles into Niall’s shoulder.

It took about five minutes—with Niall against the wall like a movie or something the _second_ he could, hands firmly at his sides, then on the bed where he yanked Niall onto his crotch by the arse—for Zayn to excuse himself for a wank. He’d come back from the bathroom looking like he’d been dying for it all day, and that doesn’t seem too unbelievable considering his touchy-feely state.

“You’re so sexy,” Zayn whispers. “Your hair looks amazing.”

“I can tell,” Niall scoffs, rolling over. Zayn’s skin goes a lovely mix of tan and bright red, caught out. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” Zayn smiles shyly.

“Just for my hair, though,” Niall adds.

“Just for the hair,” Zayn agrees.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

A month after his first hand job—or, as Niall refers to it in his head, _The Big Disaster_ —they’re snogging on Zayn’s sofa. It’s quiet in the house, a teachers-only day at their school coming as a blessing to their busy schedules and hormones, with Niall counting down what seemed like an appropriate of minutes after _Spiderman II_ till he could start looking at Zayn with what he hoped were bedroom eyes.

“You’re cuddly today,” Zayn’d commented.

Niall had chewed his bottom lip and shrugged. He’d been thinking about Zayn a lot, about how funny and quiet he is, how he’d probably never ask for something that he wanted. He must be dying, because they’ve been going out for the better part of half a year with only one orgasm between them, and that’s probably not fair at all. Watching Zayn’s thumb stroke back and forth over his kneecap, he’d wondered what Zayn wants from him.

They started kissing not long after that, Niall’s legs tucked up on the sofa while Zayn kept one foot on the floor and a hand on Niall’s hip. It’s— nice, really, how easily and smoothly they press against each other, the gentle curl of Zayn’s tongue behind Niall’s teeth. It’s also very tame for them, because usually Niall would be working his way down to Zayn’s arse or the other way around by now.

And it happens so slowly that, like, he barely notices how Zayn’s palm started on his belt, doesn’t even bother to wonder why Zayn’s turning his wrist until the backs of his knuckles stroking the fly of his khakis.

Niall—swallowing an unmanly yelp—finds his hips tilting up instantly, though he presses his lips together and Zayn obediently backs off.

“I don’t know,” he says guiltily.

Zayn scratches behind his own ear, rubbing around the _ZAP!_ plug, and says, “If you don’t want to, that’s cool, but I think that we should.”

An awful concoction of eager and white-hot embarrassment coiling in his tummy, Niall huffs and pulls away from the sofa.

“Last time—” he starts.

“Last time, we were overexcited and we rushed it,” Zayn states softly. “You… We didn’t do it right, like, we just sort’f went at it, didn’t we? We can make this good and slow.”

Niall’s body tightens with dread and uncertainty, torn because, well, there are orgasms to be had, but he’s also not over how grandly he’d fucked up the first time.

“You’d never gotten off with someone else, had you?” Zayn asks. “It’s, like, normal to be done in a couple of minutes. It’s new and it feels great and you don’t think about much else.” His hand twitches where it’s resting in Niall’s lap and squeezes, one warm pulse that draws heat to Niall’s dick in seconds, eased along by the silky rumble of Zayn’s voice. “You trust me, ’nd you’re safe wih’me, and I promised we’d practise, didn’t I? We’re practising.”

Niall takes a graceless, ragged inhale and nods, legs slacking. Yeah, he can… They can practise.

“We’re going to stay calm, alright?” Zayn’s hand presses firmly onto Niall’s crotch and licks his lip while Niall’s eyelids lower. “You’re gonna tell me how you want it, what you like, and what feels good. Sound okay?”

“Yeah,” Niall croaks. “I like— I want to kiss you.”

Niall shifts his knees so Zayn can slot into a place where he has a good angle to lean in and take Niall’s lips. Niall gets kissed like he needs to be thawed, slow and wet, Zayn’s hand working him over even though he’s already really fucking _h_ —

“Breathe,” Zayn reminds him, words hot on his throat. “You wanna last, right?”

Gulping one mouthful of air and pushing it out his nose, Niall nods gently and concentrates on steadying his lungs’ intake and _not_ how much his cock is enjoying the near-constant petting and rubbing.

 _In, out. In, out. In—_ oh, God _—out._

He’s not on the fast track to creaming himself, but the build up’s slower than he’s used to, more careful, so it’s _that_ much more intense, especially with Zayn’s tongue in his mouth and the firm muscle of Zayn’s back under Niall’s hand. Every touch becomes heavier as the press up gets stiffer and fuller, and Niall can feel his trousers holding his dick back like he’s popped a boner under the desk, though he’s never been actually worried about his zip breaking in class.

“’M g’na take off your belt,” Zayn says. His tone adds that Niall can say no if he wants to.

He really, really doesn’t want to say no.

Zayn’s light, dainty fingers hook into the strap and thread it from the metal bar, pulling it back for the clasp to release, while the curl of heat in Niall’s balls hammers eagerly. “’Nd your fly, yeah?”

Niall tilts his head back against the sofa and closes his eyes. He can’t watch Zayn doing this, watch Zayn’s little hand on his cock, because then all he’ll only be able to think about how Zayn gets himself off and that’s too much.

Zayn nuzzles into Niall’s chest and brings a memory to the surface, how he’d fingered over Niall’s nipple that one time when they were snogging. Niall mewls like a bloody pornstar when Zayn breathes onto his shirt and sucks his nipple through it. He’s not even— It’s nothing like touching his dick but he’s _sensitive_ in a strange sort of way.

“I like that,” he admits.

Zayn hums and the sensation crawls down Niall’s tummy and twists.

Nosing back up to Niall’s jaw, Zayn unbuttons and unzips Niall’s trousers, whispering, “Niall, c’mon, open your eyes.”

Niall reluctantly does what he’s told as Zayn leans forward, pulling Niall’s cock out through the front of his boxers and holding the shaft so it stands, looking tall and proud and massive with Zayn’s fingers a V at the base, pulling his foreskin back. Niall chokes on his breath as Zayn groans, “ _Fuck_ , Niall.”

Niall’s watched enough porn to know that he’s not that impressive, but it sends a burst through him that Zayn looks so rapt. Niall watches as Zayn recollects himself and stands, taking off his jumper as he goes, and Niall catches such a good flash of his abs that he has to take himself inhand. Zayn clears his throat and makes the same humming-moaning sound that he did when they were in bed, all those weeks ago, and the familiarity hits him hard in his tummy.

“C’n I get on top of you?”

“Of course,” Niall nods, pushing his arse back against the sofa.

Pulling up his jeans, Zayn lowers himself onto Niall’s lap and sits and stares at Niall’s fist curled around his cock, and there’s a twitch in his brows that tells Niall that he’s not as composed as he looks. With smooth hands that promise a firm grip, Zayn takes Niall’s wrists and places his palms on his outer thighs.

“’S nice,” Zayn murmurs as his fingertips smooth from tip to base. “’Ve never done this with someone who’s not cut.” He locks his middle finger and thumb in a loop at the base and squeezes, taking out a square from his pocket with his other hand. “Brought lube and everything.”

“Use it,” Niall nods.

While Zayn gets his grip all slick (it smells like oranges, and Niall’s mouth waters, and he sees the fat line of Zayn’s cock twitch in his jeans—) Niall tilts his fingers into Zayn’s pockets. He’s being so good, so patient, and even the _thought_ of Zayn wanking him off keeps him horny enough to warrant a cold shower – fucking hell, he’s not even being properly touched yet.

At the first stroke of Zayn’s fingertips, Niall grunts and lets his arm slacken. The thing is that he goes pink when he’s turned on, like, _everywhere_. Even his belly develops a blush to match his cheeks, and it spreads right to his toes, so he’s mostly equating the experience to Zayn wanking off a red Jelly Baby. He hopes that he’ll look okay, and his noises won’t be too silly, and God forbid he nuts off too quickly _again_ —

“Oh my god,” he sighs, Zayn’s hand finally on his dick. It’s so different, the change intensely obvious even though the grip and pace is just shy of what Niall’s used to. It’s someone _else_. He hadn’t had a chance to notice the change last time but it’s all he can think about now; it’ll be all he thinks about when he gets himself off, for _days_.

“Is this alright?” Zayn asks.

“Yeah,” Niall gasps, tacking on a breathy, “ _Fuuuck_.” Zayn thumbs around the rib at the crown and Niall jolts. “Not— Not there, please.”

“Sorry,” Zayn whispers.

“No, it’s oh—” He swallows the _okay_ and chokes out, “ _Oh my god,_ ” instead.

Zayn’s tongue curls into the corner of his own mouth, eyes drifting up Niall’s body and catching on Niall’s. He looks exactly like sex on legs and Niall forgets that this is supposed to be calm and slow, hips giving a shaky buck that makes him flush redder from the rush.

“Please, just… Can we go a bit faster, d’you think?” he says.

The pace speeds up and Niall melts into the sofa, mouth hanging ajar as his head tips back, practically an invitation for Zayn to kiss him. Zayn sucks on Niall’s bottom lip, drags his teeth down and nips, making Niall’s skin buzz like Fanta. His thighs twitch as he presses his arse back, determined not to thrust up to meet the tightness of Zayn’s fist again. His hands slide up to Zayn’s neck and for a minute Niall takes charge, snogging fiercely like in Jesy’s books (Not to self, he thinks: Tell Jesy about this) until Zayn gently pinches his cockhead and his fingertips cascade down Zayn’s torso like rain, feeling over the lines of his body.

This time it comes firmly but steadily, voice breaking into a million pieces, jerking his hips accidentally before Zayn says, “’S alright, go for it,” then, “Y’close?”

Niall nods, barely opening his eyes as he pants through the final seconds before he comes. The patience and the build-up entwine fantastically and crest gently before he plummets, squeezing Zayn’s hips as he shoots his load.

“Oh my god,” he gasps loudly as the last drops spill out. Zayn’s got jizz on his top but he’s grinning and taking in sharp, trembling breaths, looking turned on beyond belief. He takes off his long-sleeve top and uses it to wipe off Niall’s stomach and his hand.

Even with Zayn in the singlet that shades his collarbones perfectly and narrows in on his tiny waist, Niall’s dick can’t manage a feeble twitch, going soft slowly as Zayn says, “Needed a wash, anyway,” and throws his top into the washing machine.

Niall hums what he hopes is a grateful sound, slipping his boxers and trousers back to his hips, smile slack and fucked.

“Better?” Zayn asks, dropping to the sofa.

“Lots,” Niall nods. “That was amazing.”

Zayn brings Niall down carefully with kind, lingering kisses to his neck, nuzzling into his hair until Niall giggles and kisses him fully. Zayn starts to back away because it’s not supposed to lead anywhere, but Niall keeps him where he is because… maybe he wants it to?

Not one to reject a snog, Zayn presses back just as eagerly, crawling over Niall. His hands are planted at Niall’s sides and Zayn bloody _moans_ when Niall’s hand finds the inseam.

“I don’t _always_ think about my dick.” Niall tries for a half-smile but it probably falls flat with nerves. “Sometimes I think about yours.”

“You don’t have to,” Zayn says weakly, like he wants nothing more than this. He’s semi-hard and getting stiff quickly.

“Let’s go to your room,” Niall suggests.

“Alright.” Zayn takes his hand, Niall’s pulse rising again after such a steady downfall.

Niall stalls for a second when they fall through the door, Zayn tugging him to the bed with his head dipped like he’s shy. It seems silly at first, but then Niall remembers how intimate it is to have someone else looking at you when you’re hard and your dick’s out. He knows how it feels to be nervous, how self-conscious and modest Zayn can be as is.

He lets Zayn get on top, between his thighs so that Niall has to stretch to mouth hot, sloppy kisses to his neck, the kind that make Zayn groan and sigh. Niall’s hands frame Zayn’s face and he presses his lips to Zayn’s like a distraction from the hesitation slowing him as he undoes Zayn’s belt. His fingers bump into Zayn’s cock once, twice, and Zayn pushes his hips forward like an invitation.

Out on a whim and feeling generous, Niall pinches the hem of his own shirt and lifts it, Zayn’s hands replacing the fabric in seconds, thumbs rubbing into the hollow beneath Niall’s ribs as Niall leans up to remove his shirt completely. Being topless is okay, only Niall hadn’t taken into account the revived liking that Zayn’s taken to his nipples. The temperature change makes them pebble up, which Zayn notices if his shaky swallow and warmed eyes are anything to go by, fingers sliding up to pinch them lightly.

Louis stumbles in at that second, smashing buttons on his Nintendo, with Harry in tow.

Niall’s never seen Zayn move so quickly, snatching his hands back and bracing himself over Niall as he grabs his top, groaning, “Louis, for fuck’s sake!”

Eyes dragging away from his game, Louis looks between them and raises his eyebrows.

“You’ve got a husband’s bulge, Zayn,” he comments.

Looking back to Niall again, Zayn gives a gravelly sigh and helps him adjust his shirt, climbing off of Niall to lean against the wall, bending his knees to make his boner not quite so obvious. Niall frowns at the loss and glares at Louis, who’s not paying attention, and then Harry, who’s standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“We can go,” he offers, to which Louis grunts in protest.

Zayn considers it before shaking his head. “You’ve already done your bloody damage.”

Harry nods apologetically and taps Louis’ shoulder. Louis stands from Zayn’s deskchair and lets Harry sit, dropping into his lap without jeopardising his involvement in the game.

“You okay?” Niall mumbles, curling his fist into Zayn’s duvet. He’s gone warm about the cheeks and forehead from being caught out, imagining that Zayn must feel a lot worse.

“I need a drink,” Zayn huffs, rubbing his face with his hands, obviously disappointed that he and Niall hadn’t gone through with it.

“I’ll get one,” Niall says immediately. He kisses Zayn’s cheek, mildly surprised to see Harry dislodge Louis in favour of following him to the kitchen. Louis doesn’t look pleased, snapping his Nintendo shut and griping loudly.

“We picked our moment, didn’t we?” Harry smirks as the door closes.

Niall shrugs, exhaling.

“You didn’t have a top on,” Harry says. “Zayn was touching your nipples.”

“Christ, Harry. Shut _up_ ,” Niall groans.

The tone slaps a moment of realisation into Harry’s face, eyes going wide and flipping his hair back as Niall fills a glass with water.

“You were going to—” he gestures wanking with his hand, “—him, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Niall says quietly.

“Oh.” Harry’s foot scrubs slowly, guiltily, into the floor. “Sorry.” Harry peers up at him as he’s downing his own glass of water distractedly, and Harry fiddles with his rings and necklace. He looks saddened by the idea that he’s caused someone to miss out, though as to whether it’s Niall or Zayn that he feels bad for, Niall has no idea. “Does he touch your nipples a lot?”

“Harry,” Niall sighs, warning colouring his voice.

“Bro, I just mean… Sometimes Louis does it to me, on my normal pair,” he admits. “It doesn’t feel that great, if I’m honest.”

“Felt alright to me,” Niall says before he even realises that Harry’s managed to goad him into a conversation about his nipples. Whatever. He can’t stay cross with Harry. “Zayn’s pretty careful, though. He sucked on them a bit, too.”

“Really?” Harry squeaks. “And that was good, was it?”

“He did it over my tee shirt so it was warm and… nice,” Niall answers, leaning against the counter. “He was wanking me off at the same time.”

Harry grins. “Yeah? Any good?”

“Plenty good,” Niall brags, waggling his brows and feeling smug before he remembers how excited Zayn had been to get his own hand job.

They start up the stairs and Harry whispers, “Lou wants me to rim him.”

Niall’s seen that in porn.

“He says that he wants me to try fingering him a bit, too, while I blow him,” Harry adds.

“Are you going to do it?” Niall asks, hushed, his hand on the doorknob.

Harry’s eyes widen. “Of course! Lou wants me to, and I… I’ll do anything for him,” he smiles like the giggly, love-struck idiot that he is.

“You know that you’re talking all pretty and sweet about sticking your tongue in his arse, right?” Niall grins.

Giving a shrug and a cheeky wink, Harry says, “He _does_ have a nice bum. _Get in_.”

Zayn’s glower has smoothed to a mere hint of resentment, hanging over Louis’ shoulder and watching him play. He sips moodily at his water and then offers it to Louis. Niall notices idly that his pinky doesn’t touch the glass, like how Harry holds his.

“Harold’s taking me out for tea,” Louis says proudly.

“I don’t know if I will, Lou.” Harry sits himself on the floor. “You interrupted Zayn’s hand job.”

A flash of shock scalds Zayn’s face to bright red, and Niall manages a surprise-induced smile.

“What? You probably told Louis, and Niall told me, so we’re all in the know,” Harry says. “And, um, we saw you with a boner.”

Zayn buries his face in his hands and vows to Louis-proof the front door.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Hand-ins are looming up, with the visual art projects due at the end of the week. The art room is crowded, so the group sit elsewhere while Zayn works furiously on his piece. He’s already told Louis to fuck off, and Harry to go away, and has barely spoken to Niall, probably because he’s biting back similar phrases.

“Aw, he’ll be alright once he’s finished,” Liam assures him. “You know Zayn, babe. A perfectionist till the end.”

In the meantime, Niall manages to preoccupy himself with music, friends, and he even rekindles his football skills (though he’ll only ever play Louis if it's also against Harry, and Liam’s playing as well, with Harry having to receive at least one pass per goal that Louis scores or it doesn’t count).

> From: Zayn — 10.23pm: _Due tmrw ! :/ Uh oh_

Niall lifts his phone.

> To: Zayn — 10.24pm: _You will be fine ! Your comic is the coolest ! xx_

> From: Zayn — 10.26pm: _Hope so :/ Really nervous rn x_

Pouting sympathetically at his phone, Niall rolls up in his duvet and strokes his cock a little bit.

> To: Zayn — 10.27pm: _Come over tomorrow and unwind ? We can watch a film ?_

He’s been looking up hand job tips (and maybe bought a _Cosmo_ magazine) so that he’s totally prepared to blow Zayn’s mind. Niall’s pretty certain that he’s got this down pat, especially since, well, it’s a dick. He has one, and he’s just got to rub Zayn’s for a few minutes, just like how he does for himself. It’s a lot less scary once he’s put the whole thing into perspective.

And the thought that he’ll get to see Zayn fall apart is easy incentive.

> From: Zayn — 10.29pm: _Yea definitely :D sounds good xx_

> From: Zayn — 10.30pm: _K going to bed now bc big day tmrw xx good night ! xx_

Niall flicks off a last text, then crowds both hands down his boxers, nearly too excited to get off with how hard he’s buzzing for the following afternoon.


	10. A Ballgown!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyyy. Back after two weeks.
> 
> How would everyone feel about 20 chapters? I'm thinking that I extend this, maybe. Thoughts? I had a plan set, but now I'm thinking of detouring to have a more realistic and less perfect highschool AU-stereotype.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely betas, [24horan](http://24horan.tumblr.com/), [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/), not only for looking through my writing while it's a horrendous mess, but also for not running away in terror.
> 
> Comments always appreciated, ofc~~
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

School is a drag without Zayn around, and half of the classes are missing a sizeable chunk of students who are scurrying to get work done for art subjects. Niall’s mum calls him during lunch, reminding him that he can’t keep Zayn locked up forever, no matter how hard he tries, and she _will_ be meeting him, thank you very much.

While she talks, Niall glances over to the art rooms, considering asking Zayn now. He’s really stressed at the moment, actually, so he probably shouldn’t.

“Maybe we should get Harry a bonnet,” Louis says. “Oh, and a rattle.”

“Why?” Harry asks loudly.

“Because you’re such a big, bloody baby. Eat your fruit like a normal human being, would you?” Louis says, waving a slice of banana around before it slips through his fingers and into Liam’s lap. “Sorry, Payno.”

“Why do you care so much about how I eat?” Harry asks, frown laced with a sickening amount of happiness considering he’s being bullied by his boyfriend.

Louis tilts his chin up and blinks slowly; “Because I can _not_ be dating a child.”

“That’s not what you said last night,” Harry pouts.

“You’re making him sound like a paedophile,” Niall grimaces.

“No, I just mean—” Harry starts.

“We don’t need to hear, honestly,” Leigh-Anne says politely.

“Oh, _I_ do,” Jesy grins, crawling across the circle to sit beside Harry.

They start talking about God-knows-what as the rest of the group become involved in a fairly rubbish game of kickaround. With the worst of the sexes gossiping, it’s not nearly as fun, and since Louis isn’t distracted by Harry collapsing every five seconds, he has the attention to do a bunch of fancy moves. Niall can bump the ball on his knees a few times and flick it off of his foot, but that trick’s only interesting the first couple of times.

“Hey, Liam,” Jesy calls. “Y’know what makes you the odd one out?”

“Yeah, what?” he asks.

“You’re the only one without _ball skills_!” Harry grins.

Liam drops the ball, spluttering slightly and looking to Sophia for help.

“Unless you’ve got something to tell me, I can’t save you,” she shrugs, kicking the ball Niall’s way.

So they pass the day with nothing too remarkable. They don’t even go to the skate park, Louis insisting that it’s not fun if he’s the only one with a board. Niall’s determined not to let the lack of energy affect his evening.

Then things fall through. Liam’s car won’t start, so a science teacher helps restart it, which is cool and all except it takes away roughly forty five minutes from Niall’s game plan. In the kitchen, more time is drained as Zayn squashes his worry with a tall glass of Coke and a pint of ice cream shared between him and Niall, mouthing off about a shithead in his class who’d splattered watercolour down a monster’s leg, leaving Zayn to dab it off. He’d been able to cover the stain, but not without some hassle. He sucks moodily at his drink.

And when they (finally) get through to the living room for Phase One: Relax, Zayn’s shoulders drop, weighed with fatigue and stress, as he eyes the collection.

“How about we skip the film, then?” Niall suggests, dropping _The Inbetweeners_ on the sofa and leading Zayn up the steps.

There’s a hoodie on his floor beside the jeans he’d shed from the night before last, so not quite venturing into catastrophic mess just yet. Besides, his bed’s made, so that should count for something and they’re not kidding anyone with their feigned interest paid to anything else in here.

As Niall resticks a poster corner that had scared him half to death when it peeled off at four in the morning, Zayn flops face-first into his pillow. Niall sidles against him, trying to peek past Zayn’s elbow, a grin wide and comfortably worn on his face.

“You alright?” he mouths against Zayn’s arm.

Zayn shrugs. “Greg said he was about to have a shower, didn’t’ee? How long’ll that take?”

“He’s shaving his legs because he lost a bet with his mates, so that could easily be over half an hour.” Niall smoothes his hand down Zayn’s back. “Why?”

“B’cause we can’t snog if I can’t go ’nd wank,” Zayn mumbles, rubbing his face into his palms and then looking up, disheveled and quite sexy if Niall overlooks the tired smudges stretching over the base of his lashes, and the embarrassment lining his forehead. 

In a moment of bravery, Niall nearly lets slip that he’s planning on getting Zayn off anyway, but he’s trying to be coy, so instead he says, “Am I that hot?”

Zayn’s frown cracks into a tiny smile at the edges. “Of course,” he says, “but also, like, I haven’t… had private time, lately.”

“Yeah?” Niall shifts so that he’s on his back in an attempt to look as inviting as possible. “Why’s that?”

Zayn tries to bury his blush into his half of the pillow and fails as Niall tucks up against him, blinking slowly, like he’s not bothered at all.

“Safaa and Waliyha are getting their room painted, so they’ve been sleeping on the floor in my room, since Doniya is on the sofa while my cousin stays with us, and I can’t wank with my _sisters_ in the room,” he mumble-groans into Niall’s chest. “And, like, same for the bathroom because my cousin’s girlfriend is pregnant and _always_ bursting in to be sick. The _miracle of birth_ thing is turning out to be pretty rank so far.”

In Niall’s head, he reaches down and touches Zayn’s hip and says, _“I’ll get you off,”_ and in reality, his thighs part just a bit more as Zayn traces the movement with one of the most pained looks Niall’s ever seen on him.

“How long’s this been going on?” he asks, hand falling to his stomach.

“Erm,” Zayn sighs. “The last time was Tuesday morning, so that’s… a bit over three days?”

“Three days?” Niall thinks that he’s never had to go without, thanks the luxury of a dad who comes home late and a brother who likes his music too loud. “Is it not… sore?”

Pleading in every way except with his words, Zayn huffs but his hips shift slightly against the duvet bunched up beneath him. He could be hard.

“It’s uncomfortable,” Zayn allows.

“I could…” says Niall, leaning in against Zayn’s shoulder. “I could do you, if you want.”

Zayn’s eyes widen.

“Dad’s out, and Greg won’t hear.” Niall swallows. “I’ve got lube somewhere in my desk.”

“Yeah?” Zayn says. “Can you turn off the lights?”

It takes roughly ten seconds to sift through the shit-heap in the drawers to find the palm-sized pump bottle that he’d used last night, under homework that’s due on Monday and some scraps he’d been handed in maths, and he can hear Zayn turning over and adjusting himself. Even with the lights off he can see the full bulk of Zayn’s cock. Niall kneels over from the edge of his bed to settle on top of Zayn, tracing the stretch under his jeans in the curve towards his hip.

Forgetting every way he’d thought that this could go, Niall opens his hand over him.

“G’nna kiss me, first?” Zayn smirks.

Niall snatches his hand back, breaking into a grin as Zayn rolls them over, and when he pushes his hips in snugly, Niall lifts his legs just a smidge to squeeze on Zayn’s waist as he’s necked. Zayn always kisses how Niall doesn’t; his kitten licks and neat, wide sweeps of his tongue to Niall’s hot, sloppy smooches, but the insistent press against his arse is making it difficult to think about what that means.

He’s having a bit of a mind blank.

Zayn strokes his fingers tenderly down Niall’s side, lets them drift above his belt and nip at his waist until he giggles and pats Zayn’s thigh, saying, “Switch?” to which Zayn nods.

Before he has a chance to question himself, Niall grips the neck of his singlet and rucks it to the floor. Between the darkness and the position, Zayn’s irises are swallowed by his pupils and the hunger that glues them to Niall’s chest.

Zayn beats Niall to his own belt, loosening it enough to get his fly open and relieve some of the pressure.

“D’you want me to get it out?” he asks when he catches Niall staring.

“I can do it,” Niall insists. He’s more than aware of Zayn’s unwavering gaze, waiting for the reaction when Niall—after five months of dating— _finally_ sees his cock. Niall does everything he can to keep his expression neutral, though it’s tricky peeling back Zayn’s briefs and _not_ sending his eyebrows halfway to his hairline.

The first thing he notices is how the bloodrush has stained his cock dark, and yet darker still is the single scar that rings around his shaft where he’s been circumcised. The second thing is his hair. Creeping up from the base to his bellybutton, it’s thicker than Niall’s, but obviously trimmed and kept neat. And there’s… no piercing.

For whatever reason, Zayn’s cock trembles just a little, so Niall pulls the elastic waist so it sits comfortably under Zayn’s balls, and can’t hold back an, “Oh my god,” when his shaft flexes.

With a new charge prickling in his fingertips, Niall gingerly slips Zayn’s— _skinny, why did they have to be skinny?_ —jeans as far as he comfortably can, which ends up with them bunched around his knees. Zayn’s dick shifts against his stomach, going half-mast from the wait.

“You’ll need that lube,” Zayn says, gesturing for the bottle. Niall hands it over without thinking—without remembering that _he’s_ supposed to be the one slicking Zayn up—and nearly goes cross-eyed as Zayn’s hand smoothes down his own cock a few times. “I’m g’nna sit up, ’lright?”

His voice is scratchy, etched into with how horny he is. It takes a second but the knowledge soaks in as Zayn props up a pillow so he can lean against the headboard, and then Niall’s hand is curled around his shaft.

Jacking Zayn off isn’t _that_ much different, Niall realises. The feel is new, since there’s no foreskin to pull up over the head, and the size is an obvious change from what he’s used to, but really it’s all quite easy.

The one thing that he _really_ notices is the lack of noise; all he can hear the rhythmic _slip-slap_ , whilst Zayn keeps quiet, all shallow breaths and nothing else.

Niall knows what’s coming when Zayn’s fingers start tiptoeing up his ribs, so he’s not surprised when Zayn licks his thumb and grins slightly as he pinches Niall’s nipple. Niall doesn’t quite _get_ it, but he’ll go along with it because, really, if Zayn likes it and it’s not bothering anybody, he’s— That’s a bit sore, actually.

“Ow,” he says softly, and looks down to inspect any possible damage. His nipple aches a little, and the usual milky-coffee colour is stained pink, bud stiff and tight where Zayn’s been rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbles, nudging up Niall’s neck with quick pecks that have Niall giggling in seconds. Zayn nibbles carefully against Niall’s lips and pulls him in closer, covering his cock with his own hand to squeeze at the crown.

“Am I doing this right?” Niall asks, touching his forehead to Zayn’s.

“Definitely, just a little more on my knob.” Niall thumbs around the slit and tightens his fist where the head flares, precome oozing down his fingers in a clear stream.

Zayn’s breath catches, not even offering a moan between Niall’s grip sliding up and down, only pausing to go over the tip again. Zayn pants lightly through his nose as they kiss, with Zayn’s thigh tensing beneath Niall’s palm, and the worry that courses through his brain like a heartbeat as Zayn pulls away, sucking in air, holding it for half a second, and breathing out, over and over.

“We got tissues? I’m g’nna come,” he whispers.

Niall stops himself from asking, “ _Really?_ ” He opens his drawer and takes out two, churning his fist around the head as Zayn sighs in bliss and shoots off, all over Niall’s tummy.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching the last splatter fall to his bellybutton.

Zayn regains his breath while Niall cleans himself up, cuddling up against the wall as Zayn’s kisses get lazier and lazier. Zayn says things like, “ _So good_ ,” and “ _Got me so worked up_ ,” and “ _Felt amazing_ ,” and “ _I love you_ ,” all hushed and kind.

“D’you want to stay the night?” Niall eventually asks. His top is back on, now, and one nipple still looks more abused than the other, having slipped from the strap. Zayn’s gone gleefully pink at the sight.

“Can’t,” Zayn says apologetically. “Mum and Dad are in Glasgow till tomorrow afternoon, so I have to take care of the girls. You free tomorrow?”

“Might be going to the gym with Liam if Sophia’s still got her cold,” Niall answers, “so maybe.”

“Maybe’s good,” Zayn grins, doing up the button on his fly, which he’d left carelessly unzipped. “I’ll haf’ta go in a minute. Gi’me a kiss?”

Niall crawls over to where Zayn’s tying up his shoes, kissing his cheek and biting playfully at his shoulder. Turning around, Zayn smiles, eyes big and hopeful where they’d sunken with stress for the past fortnight.

“I was about to say that, like, you could sleep over at mine tonight, but you can’t, because of my sisters.” Zayn chews his lip.

“Your sisters could sleep in your parents’ bed,” Niall says slowly. “’Nd we can return your room to a wank-friendly zone.”

“Won’t need to wank,” Zayn grins, poking Niall’s thigh. “You still owe me one, lovely.”

“Well, I owe you half,” Niall shrugs.

Zayn nods. “Half a hand job, then.”

Niall sees him to the door, sneaking in a quick goodbye snog before Greg bursts out of the bathroom, shouting, “Get the fucking plasters, Niall! M’legs are in _ribbons_!”

So after patching up his brother—who only had a small cut on his knee—Niall calls Harry. Harry doesn’t answer.

To: Harry — 5.42pm: _Call as soon as you get this ! Important_

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Hello-oh?” Harry drawls.

Niall blinks. “Harry, what’s up?”

“D’no. You called me,” Harry shrugs at the camera.

“Have you been drinking?” Niall laughs, bewildered. “Jesus, Harry.”

“Lou brought a bit of wine over. It’s very nice.”

“How drunk are you?” Niall asks.

Harry taps his chin with his fingers. “Legally, I could still drive.”

“Cool, because I’m going over to Zayn’s in a bit, and—”

“Are you staying the night?” Harry gasps, then moves his shoulders from side to side, saying, “Get _in_ , Niall.”

“Yeah, of course, Haz. Whatever.” He gains a smile at the thought of what he’s about to say, which _is_ silly, but he can’t help it, can’t help how giddy and horny the whole thing made him. He’s put off having a tug, determined to sneak one in with Zayn once the girls have gone to sleep. “I got Zayn off, today.”

“Really? How was it? It’s so good to get someone else off, isn’t it?” Harry says. “Giving head’s not the same, honestly. When you’re jacking someone off, it’s so intimate. You get to _watch them_ come undone right in front of you. It’s amazing, right?”

Niall thinks back to how wrecked Zayn’d sounded, only to stay so calm. What Harry’s describing is definitely how it felt for Niall when Zayn had his hand on him, and then Zayn had kept everything locked up so tightly, not making a single noise even when he came.

“Does he still touch your nipples?” Harry continues. “I tried it with Louis. He says he likes it. Nipping one turns him on really quickly.”

“Cheers. An answer to a question that I didn’t ask,” Niall sighs, rolling his eyes and grinning to make the joke clear. “He didn’t make a single noise. Totally silent the whole time.”

Harry frowns. “Even when he jizzed? That’s strange.”

“Maybe he’s just shy,” Niall shrugs. He’s hoping that that’s the case. “Or quiet.”

 _That_ breaks Harry’s mouth into one big, stupidly smug, horrendously proud grin, like he knows every secret of every universe.

“ _Nobody_ is ‘just quiet’, Niall,” he says. “Louis said the same thing. ‘I don’t make a lot of noise, really. I just don’t see the point. It makes people sound like a porno.’ Then he was about to finish and he’s whimpering, cooing, _whining_ —”

“Harry, no!” Niall grimaces. “I really, _really_ don’t want to know.”

Harry pouts.

“Where’s Louis now, anyway?” he sighs.

“In the bathroom, cleaning up. I’m going to rim him,” Harry giggles.

Niall doesn’t see the appeal of having his arse licked, but he’s not here to judge. Besides, _Louis_ wants it, so there has to be something there, something that’d feel good enough to overlook the question marks raised. Then again, _fingering_ is supposed to feel good, and Niall’d thought that it was just for girls, so maybe he has a lot to learn—

“He’ll be through in a minute, actually. I’m going to find the stuff,” Harry says, unbuttoning his shirt and apparently not caring that Niall could see a few massive lovebites on his pec. “I’ll call you tomorrow or something with the details.”

Before Niall can say _no_ or _please don’t_ , Harry waves, shutting Skype with the cheekiest look Niall’s ever seen. Completely _not_ thinking about how Harry and Louis are going to be fucking about, he gathers up his night things, shoving them into his school bag.

“Oi, Niall,” Greg calls from his bedroom. He’s on his bed, wearing a pair of raggy old boxers. “Feel my legs. Jesus Christ.”

Reluctantly (and with a grimace) Niall touches his fingertips to Greg’s shin, and drops the frown right away.

“Wow, that’s smooth,” he nods, dropping his hand.

“Yeah,” Greg grins. He continues to stroke his legs as he talks; “Is Zayn going to meet Mum this weekend? She’s coming to stay with Deb for your thing, isn’t she? I think she wants to see Zayn.”

Niall burns crimson, remembering him gushing about _fuck, Mum, he’s so pretty, he has such big eyes, and his lashes go one for **ages** , and he’s so cool, so good at art, his jawline is chiseled from marble_. Yeah. He should probably keep his mouth shut about boys from now on.

“I’ll ask him,” Niall shrugs.

“Are you going over now?” Greg asks, looking to Niall’s bag.

“Yeah. I’ll be back at ten tomorrow or something ’cause I’m going to see Liam, after.” Niall’s eager to get out of the door before the _questions_ start, because God forbid Greg not take an opportunity to be a stonking great dickhead.

Greg waggles his eyebrows.

“Don’t be cunty,” Niall groans, pushing a hand through his hair. He loves Greg, of course he does, but this is a conversation he didn’t want to have with his dad, let alone his brother.

(He manages to survive a hurtling of condoms with just a bruised ego.)

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Erm, this is dinner,” Zayn says, lifting up a container with milky-green liquid inside. “Just need to microwave it whenever we’re hungry.”

It’s edging on six o’ clock, the girls having eaten already. Safaa clung to their sides until _That’s So Raven_ came on, sending her sprinting through to the telly.

“Where’s Waliyha?” Niall asks. “I swear I _never_ see her. Does she hate me or some’ng?”

Zayn licks the smirk off his lips as best he can, stroking the small of Niall’s back. “I think she has a bit of a crush on you, actually,” he murmurs.

“Really?” Niall’s eyes widen towards the door. “Should I ask her out?”

The weight of the eyeroll that follows nearly sends Niall flat on his arse, but he gets a kiss on the cheek anyway. Even when Zayn tries to turn back to the potatoes he’s peeling, Niall latches up behind his body, curling around Zayn and hooking his chin over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Aw,” Zayn hums. “Dih’you miss me for the past couple of hours?”

“Definitely,” Niall grins, grinding his hips forward a couple of times.

“Later,” Zayn promises as he bats Niall away.

Again, Zayn eyes Niall in absolute astonishment at the rate in which he eats, and how a single tear doesn’t tickle his waterline _once_ through their dinner. He shakes his head and mutters into his curry while Waliyha huddles in over her phone, even coaxing Niall and Zayn (and Safaa, who insists on lying over their laps) into a photo for her friend. He and Zayn share a pointed look, because maybe—just _maybe_ —Zayn’s onto something with the whole crush thing.

Waliyha certainly goes pink around the cheeks when she and Niall are cleaning dishes while Zayn gets Safaa ready for bed.

“You just want me to sleep so that you and Zayn can stay up and _snog_ ,” she shouts as he hurriedly ushers her out.

“Does she know what that means?” Niall asks, cackling as Zayn jogs back to grab a scraggly stuffed monkey from the counter top.

“No,” Waliyha snorts. “She heard it from Dad, I think.”

“Is she always such a rebel?” he adds as he hears Safaa yell something about the pyjamas not being the right colour.

“Of course. She’s a younger sister.” Waliyha scrubs hard at a pot.

“So’re you,” Niall laughs, pointing a bubbly finger at her.

Waliyha raises her eyebrows. “No, I’m a _middle child_. I’m the perfect one.”

Rinsing his hands, Niall grins, “ _Obviously_ ,” and she nods. 

As they’re drying everything that won’t fit in the dishwasher, Zayn reappears, worn from a battle Niall can only imagine when he sees how smug Safaa is. Her budgy fists are set staunchly on her hips and she’s holding a book under her arm.

“She wants you to read it to her,” Zayn mumbles into the back of Niall’s neck. “Apparently, my voice isn’t ‘cool’ enough.”

“Aw,” Niall coos sympathetically as he turns around, nudging up on reflex to kiss Zayn’s cheek.

“Ick.” Safaa’s face scrunches up. “That’s yucky.”

“Go and get into your pyjamas,” Niall tells him softly, petting his cheek.

“Safaa needs to brush her teeth for three minutes.” Zayn nuzzles into Niall’s neck, murmuring, “Thank you.”

“Poor baby,” Niall pouts.

“Mm,” Zayn agrees.

Safaa sighs. Honestly, where did she get the attitude? “ _Who_ is reading to me?”

“I am,” Niall says, disentangling himself from Zayn’s arms. “C’mon, then. Teeth first, story later.”

“I’ve already brushed my teeth!” she tries to tell him, but a _look_ from Zayn says otherwise.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Story time is thank-you to God for having Niall’s parents settle for two children and not gambling with a third. He gets halfway through before Safaa decides that he’s not doing the characters justice, and he loses all incentive to care.

That’s when the voices start. Safaa especially likes the Godfather one, and Niall ends up doing impressions for a good twenty minutes, catching a glimpse at the clock and nearly melting in relief.

“Eight o’ clock! Bed time!” he says in a _Pooh Bear_ voice, dear Lord.

Safaa splays out on her bed, and it takes a second to click, but Niall realises that he’s supposed to tuck her in.

“My bottle’s empty,” she says.

“Sure. What d’you drink?” Niall asks.

Her eyes narrow. “I’m five. I drink _water_.”

“Of course,” Niall gasps dramatically. “How could I think otherwise?”

Finally— _finally!!!_ —Safaa is satisfied, duvet pinched in around her little body and Minka the Monkey is squished under her arm.

“G’night,” he sings lightly.

“Na-night,” she giggles.

Honestly, Niall expects to find Zayn starfished on the bed, snoring horrendously. So it’s obviously a surprise when he’s sat at the top of his bed, glasses on, and a book propped on his knees. He pushes back his floppy fringe when the door opens, smiling gently.

“Bit of a hassle, in’shee?” he says as Niall ducks down to grab his toothbrush. “I’ve shaved, by the way.”

“Presumptuous,” Niall grins, winking.

Recently, they’ve had a bit of stubble trouble, leaving Niall with a nasty itch and pink chin. It wasn’t a lot of time before Zayn noticed Niall’s reluctance to kiss too deeply. Niall had tried to laugh it off but Zayn caught on eventually when he saw the rash appearing around his mouth and a bit on the tip of his nose, so he’s shaving every second hour to keep his face smooth and silky.

“Sort’f assumed, with what you did earlier,” Zayn admits cheekily.

“Ssh. Waliyha’s brushing her teeth next door,” Niall chastises.

Zayn shakes his head, pinning a chuckle between his teeth as Niall grabs his face wash as well.

The bathroom door is open, a pink toothbrush hanging out of Waliyha’s mouth as she runs her hand under the tap.

“Did you burn yourself?” he asks, partly because the water’s on cold and _why_ , and also so that she doesn’t get a fright.

“Drying my nail polish,” she says.

 _But she’s getting her hands **wet** —_ Niall cuts off the thought. It’s all too confusing to bother about when Zayn’s waiting for him to get back so they can muck around.

He’s a bit sloppy with his routine; his neck and cheeks don't get a great clean, his teeth miss out a little around his molars, and the tips of his hair get wet (speaking of, he needed to ask Zayn about revamping the colour where the natural brown is growing back). Still, Zayn looks pleased to see him, though the book doesn’t leave his hand.

“We have to have a half-hour wait, for our own good,” he murmurs when Niall leans down. “One of ’em always gets up to go to the toilet or something.”

“We’ll hear them coming up the stairs,” Niall argues, though the stern words push him to the other side of the bed, where he sprawls helplessly before finding Zayn’s laptop.

The password is _kryptoniteme_ , which Niall types in only to be greeted with porn on Zayn’s Chrome browser. He tilts the computer to Zayn, grinning.

“I thought I had a few minutes to myself this morning. Shut up,” he mutters.

“No judgment,” Niall says. “Just thinking that you should probably use Incognito when you’re watching—” He squints at the screen. “— _Uncut Virgin Twink Jerks Off_.”

“I was trying to get ideas for you.” Zayn rubs his face with his hands, setting his glasses crooked. “B’cos you’re not cut. I thought it’d be the same thing, and then I touched the tip and you freaked out. Like, I thought I could look it up.”

Niall swallows. “Yeah? Di’you learn anything?”

Zayn gives a small, coy shrug, hiding _something_ , and it makes Niall blood come quicker when he thinks about what Zayn’s _research_ could’ve brought to light. “Nothing you don’t already know, probably.”

Soon enough, Niall gets restless with flicking back and forth between his newsfeed and his dash (the occasional porn gif wasn’t helping him settle at all) so he strikes up a conversation with Jesy. He slouches so that the laptop’s on his chest, weedy elbows stuck out like a chicken as he types.

Jesy: _Get in, Horan. Jfc._

Niall types back, _Can’t :/ waiting for his sisters to fall asleep !_

Jesy: _Drag!_

“Hey, I didn’t freak out,” Niall says suddenly.

“Hm?” Zayn grunts.

“When you were giving me a hand job, I didn’t freak out,” Niall says.

Zayn puts down the book, smirking slightly. “You did, kind of.”

“How?” Niall frowns.

“You just… spazzed out. Your whole body jerked and you squeaked a bit,” Zayn shrugs. “You were like, ‘Not there!’ and stuff.”

“Because I’m sensitive,” Niall whispers. All the talk is getting him hot and riled, making him wonder how hard he’d have to push for a puppy pile—maybe a play fight—that would hopefully end with grinding.

Zayn snickers. “Yeah, _that’s_ obvious.”

“Fucking rude,” Niall grumbles, slumping. “’Specially for someone who doesn’t make any noise.”

“What’s this?”

Zayn’s clearly amused, now, and his eyes have gone lovely, warm, slanted at the outer corners with his smile. Niall likes this Zayn the best. He likes when the edges aren’t so rough and Zayn doesn’t have to curl in on himself, can just talk and grin without the quietness that blurs his voice sometimes.

“Today, you didn’t make a _single_ sound,” Niall says. “Even when you… You fucking _came_ and you were silent the whole time.”

Pink dusting his cheeks, Zayn says, “I liked it,” and his voice goes tight. “It’s just… Try going through puberty with, like, four women in the house, and _everyone_ can hear through the walls. My sisters’ bedroom is just one over. Bloody hell, even when I was _completely_ silent, my mum’s still walked in on me a couple of times.” He’s pressing the words into his palms like he can make them not true. He drops them and brings his gaze to Niall, weary and half-lidded. “So blowing off steam and being loud aren’t things that mix in this house.”

“Aw,” Niall coos. “When’s this half-hour up?”

“Now,” Zayn says.

Zayn comes with his lips pursed and Niall’s leg hooked over his, cock jumping as he streaks his exposed stomach with white. Niall’s orgasm rides up slower, body half-twisted into Zayn’s, biting into the pillow as it hits.

“Fuck,” he whimpers against the damp spot.

“’S alright. You were pretty quiet,” Zayn murmurs, stroking his hair. “Never had someone bite a pillow for a hand job.”

“F’ckoff,” Niall groans into said pillow, rubbing his forehead into it and easing his sleep vest down. The day’s unwound and now they’re here, and he’s sleepy, and Zayn’s so beautiful. He’d put his hands beneath his head as Niall was jacking him off, chin weighed against his chest when he bothered to put the strain on his neck and watch Niall work, before dropping back down. He’d looked confident and he _glowed_ , hand sliding down his neck like he wanted to be touched _everywhere_.

“C’m’ere,” Zayn coos. Niall peers up and catches a glimpse of Zayn’s nose before he’s kissed. “Love you.”

Niall grins and laughs a little bit, turning on his back and petting the back of Zayn’s head where the hair is all stubble.

“Say it back,” Zayn hedges.

“Mm,” Niall hums, pointing at Zayn’s chest and tapping his nipple; “I,” then the other, “love”, and his tummy, “you.”

“Cool,” Zayn breathes, nestling into his side of the bed. “Big spoon or little spoon?”

“I’ll be big,” Niall offers, considering the curry they’d had. “By the way, how’w’d you feel about meeting my mum?”

“Is she coming here?” Zayn asks. Niall nods. “Does she want to meet me?”

“Are you kidding?” Niall snorts. “ _Can’t wheat t’meet me li’le boy’s boyfriend, he’s soh handsome, ’ve told aaall m’friends, g’nnah get lots of photos_!” he mimics.

Zayn’s eyebrows narrow. “How’s she seen my face?”

“I’ve sent photos of us, like when we were doing my hair,” Niall answers easily. Did Zayn really need to ask? How did one _not_ take photos of him at any given opportunity?

“Oh, yeah,” Zayn says, reflexively looking to Niall’s defeated hairstyle that’s now sticking this way and that. “We should do the colour again.” He yawns.

“Mmhm,” Niall nods.

He folds around Zayn, arm hooked around Zayn’s tiny waist, and it only occurs to him at around three in the morning when he wakes up for no reason—Zayn’s completely on his front and Niall’s draped over half of him, cuddled into his side—that Zayn didn’t answer his question.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

It’s not the most honest thing that he’s ever done.

It’s also not like Niall to lie, but he tells himself that he’s _not_. If Zayn asks, he’ll say that he thought it was a yes, since the reply he got was pretty dubious.

Because when his mum called and told Niall that she’d booked a table at a fancy-ish pizza place, Niall’d agreed without a second thought, and didn’t have the heart to mention that Zayn isn’t exactly head over heels at the prospect. Meanwhile, Maura couldn’t wait. She talked and talked about how excited she is to meet him, so Niall lied.

Sort of.

He said they’d be there.

That’s not too much to ask.

Besides, Niall’s met Trisha (and God bless; she’s one of those mums who just wants to cook for people and always makes too much, and Niall is more than happy to help with the leftovers) and that went pretty well. He was still dizzy at the time from a spectacular snog from Zayn, but a text later that night confirmed that she thought Niall was a charming young man.

Which is good.

“Scopa?” Zayn repeats. “Inn’t that a bit posh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Niall replies, weaving around the question.

Zayn makes a grumbly humming sound. “So what do I wear?”

“ _A ballgown_!” Niall hears shouted in the background.

Zayn pulls away from the phone to say, “Shut up, Loueh!” then back again. “Wha’ss’at, love?”

“You know that jumper you’ve got? The charcoal one?” Niall asks. “That, and a pair of black jeans, I reckon.”

“Yeah? Alright. Should I put my hair back?” he asks.

“Just smooth it off your face,” Niall suggests.

“Cool, then. I’ve got to go. Louis’ going to hang himself if I don’t get back to the game,” he sighs. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Niall singsongs.

It’s not lying.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“We’ve been going out for nearly six months,” Zayn says.

Niall’s body is sagged against him, hands on Zayn’s hips and chest to Zayn’s back. Friday, _finally_ Friday.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks.

Niall counts back in his head; “The start of March… Yeah, about five and a half months. Huh.”

“We should do something,” Zayn smiles, turning from his locker. “We should free up one of our houses, or go to a hotel for the night.”

“A hotel,” Niall echoes, awed at the idea.

“Get away for the night,” Zayn goes on, “just the two of us, a big bed, couple of movies…”

“Sounds great,” Niall grins.

“Sick.” Zayn pulls the last of his books into his bag. “Start saving, then. We’ll work out costs tomorrow.”

For hours, Niall can’t stop thinking about how posh and grown-up it would be to spend a bit of cash for some privacy. He’s got about eighty quid saved up for spending, and he could maybe get birthday money a couple of weeks early if it comes to it, for a nice dinner to go along with the night. He’s giddy and buzzing when he charges through the door, hardly remembering that he’s about to trick his lovely, thoughtful, amazing boyfriend into a mum-meeting dinner.

Oops.


	11. Bang Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only three weeks late. Amazing.
> 
> If you think for a second that Zayn's outfit is based on [this](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/post/77438032941) then you are 100% percent right because _unf_.
> 
> Big love to my beautiful betas, [24horan](http://24horan.tumblr.com/), [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/). Thanks again!
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

Niall was with Hannah when he was fourteen – they went on their first date two months before her fifteenth birthday. He thought that the sun shone from her arse, the best thing since sliced bread, with her lovely hair and _boobs_. She had actual _boobs_ that he was allowed to _touch_ (if he sweetened her up with compliments, first). 

As is natural with young love, she gradually stopped being as chipper and bubbly, and just wanted to drink beer and watch movies with him, rather than cuddle and talk. For Niall—just entering his dorky, gangly, hormonal phase—this was awful. It was the single worst thing imaginable. He’d fallen so hard, and just a few weeks after her birthday, they were through. 

And that was that. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

In the evening, Niall creates an album on his iPod, photos of him and Zayn, Zayn’s art, Zayn skateboarding, Zayn cooking, Zayn eating, Zayn playing video games – all the things that Niall loves about him. He hopes his mum will like Zayn, hopes that she’ll be more than approving. He’s so worried that she’ll say something, make an offhand comment without realising, because Zayn’s so much more than what he decides to cover his body with. Niall has a bit of a meltdown as he fiddles with his shoes. 

He needs her to see how Zayn takes his breath away, how Niall would give it to him anyway if he asked. His dad’s always been an easy leaner who goes with anything Niall says because he believes in freedom to do whateverthefuck you want, but that’s why his parents aren’t together anymore, because Maura believes in support but also foundation and stability. 

Zayn sends a text before he knocks, making Niall shoot up from the sofa. So much is riding on this. Niall’s mum could make or break this evening. 

Greg smirks over his own phone at Niall’s eagerness, but Niall pays him no mind. He jerks the door open maybe too quickly and his heart drops five feet to the soles of his Converse. 

“Jesus, you look good,” he breathes. 

Zayn swallows, glancing himself up and down. “Yeah? Not too manky?” 

“Manky,” Niall chokes. “No, Zayn, it’s perfect.” 

A bashful crook tips Zayn’s growing grin, making it lopsided and cute. “Yeah, well,” he says, “You look great, too. Nice shirt.” As he speaks, Zayn adjusts the collar, flattening it against Niall’s shoulders. 

They dyed Niall’s hair again before Zayn went home to get changed, and now… Niall’s brain has been swept clean by the dashing lad he’s gawking at. He won’t look anywhere else, at this rate, and why would he? Nobody could ever _possibly_ come close to the _supermodel_ standing at Niall’s door (except maybe Beyoncé) (on second thought, not even Beyoncé) (blasphemy). 

“C’mon, cab’s waiting,” Zayn grins, raising his hand to the taxi curved slightly into Niall’s driveway. 

Niall reaches his arm across the middle seat to hold Zayn’s hand, tucking his fingers around in and smoothing silent _sorrys_ in with his thumb. Zayn just smiles, sweetly oblivious. Niall is a terrible person. 

Scopa boasts golden lights with velvety-red panels, cushioned benches sat opposite chairs. The lady at the door walks them to a table in the corner, and Niall is so proud to be here with Zayn. He sees girls looking, their eyes locking enviously on the gentle grip Niall has on Zayn’s waist. Niall will always be proud to be with Zayn; he’ll always want to show him off. 

At the table, he has Zayn sit to his right, rather than across. 

“It’d be more romantic,” Zayn tries to say, but Niall says over him, “My mum’s going to sit there.” Zayn goes silent. 

“I’m meeting your mum?” he finally asks, eyes giving away the betrayal and hurt that he’s fighting to keep out of his tone. 

“I said that, remember?” Niall says in a small voice. “Look, she’s coming over now.” 

Niall sees Zayn catch sight of his mum, the two of them standing to greet her, Niall with a warm grin and Zayn running a hand through his hair and pulling his sleeve down over his tats. His piercings so sharp and light against his skin, Zayn looks small and cuddly in the same jumper that’d made him look lip-bitingly fuckable, and his big eyes don’t blink, like he’s scared. 

Like he’s _prey_. 

“Hello, m’baby boy.” Maura grasps Niall’s shoulders. “No! _You’re_ taller than _me_?” 

“It was always g’nna happen,” Niall shrugs, mouth tipping into a cheeky grin. 

Maura’s gaze rolls to Zayn, ducking her chin and pursing her lips in a look of motherly warmth. “And I know who _you_ are.” She bypasses his offered hand and hugs him briefly instead. When she draws away, she cups his face in her little hands and adds, “With the way Niall’s described your cheekbones, who wouldn’t?” 

“Well, for manners’ sake, I’m Zayn,” Zayn says, matching her easy tone. He seems less likely to melt into the floorboards, so that’s a win. Niall has a bit of an internal giggle at the idea of someone being afraid of _his mum_ , who stands at about five-foot-something and nearly cries every time Niall and Greg visit. 

“Well, I hope Niall’s been treating you alright, not scaring you off with his swearing,” she smiles, slipping into her chair, handbag at her feet. “Irish mouth, he’s got.” 

Niall turns in time to catch Zayn’s eyes widen, slight shadow appearing just under them, and the giggle Niall gives comes out lower and fonder than it should’ve. 

“There are things you learn to love, and things you love without learning,” Zayn says, blushing and flinching gently, and Niall wonders if the words caught him as off-guard as they did Niall and Maura. “B’sides,” he says in a lighter tone, “my mum’s English-Irish, so I hear a lot of it from her side, and my dad.” 

Niall beams brightly at the impressed surprise in his mum’s voice as she says, “Niall, you’re dating a poet.” 

True to his nature, Zayn splutters into his water, a startling red smearing his cheeks to his jawline. He fumbles with his sleeve again, smiling a shy _thanks_. 

Maura gets a _capriciossa_ , Niall a _bambino_ , and Zayn a _Margherita_. Niall’s never had to introduce a boyfriend to his mum before, since she’d known Holly when they were young. Thinking of which, Niall never read her Facebook message… 

Anyway, the point is that they get along suspiciously well. In fact, the whole evening is perfect, and Niall believes in a free lunch more optimistically than most, so he relaxes and gets cozy, slipping his hand under the table to find Zayn’s. 

“Lots of piercings,” Maura says, and Niall’s head jerks up. “Niall wanted his ears done a little while ago. Did you have anything to do with that?” she teases. 

“I thought it’d look cool,” Zayn replies uneasily. 

“As long as nothing’s infected, it’s alright, Zayn,” she smiles. “It’s tattoos I’m worried about, honestly. So many young girls getting things that they can’t remove.” 

Niall glances nervously to Zayn, who avoids commenting by wolfing down a slice of pizza. Maura doesn’t notice the tense lull, sipping her wine before scooting from the table to stand. 

“Just going to touch up my lippy,” she says, taking her purse. 

Zayn chews as Maura walks away, patting flour off his fingers with a napkin, and then he faces Niall, and— He’s really, really not happy. The air that stills in Niall’s lungs tells him that he’s made a mistake bringing Zayn here. 

“You tricked me into meeting your mum,” Zayn says in a small voice. 

“I told you she was coming,” Niall replies, feeling his face go hot. 

“I wasn’t ready, Niall,” Zayn frowns, taking his hand away and propping his elbow up, arm a flimsy but purposeful barrier between them. “Mums don’t like me, alright? I have to have time to _think_ about this shit and you’ve just tossed me in, so thanks.” 

“Are you cross?” Niall asks, though the sarcasm laced through Zayn’s sullen tone has already answered for him. 

Eyes wide, Zayn turns to him; “ _Yes_.” He drops his napkin on the table. “For fuck’s sake.” 

“M’sorry,” he mumbles. “Just…” 

Zayn doesn’t look like he’s listening, and that makes it so much fucking worse. Niall feels his bottom lip wobble. He can’t— Not here. He’s not going to cry here. If it was just Zayn, maybe he could, but not in front of the waitress, not in front of the people, and not in front of his mum when she gets back. 

“You’re incredible, Zayn.” Niall pushes past the clump of grit in his throat. “I’ve always wanted people to know about us, and how amazing you are. You know that.” 

“Yeah, but…” Zayn sighs. “You have to respect that, like, I was scared, and this,” he gestures flatly with his finger, “is bullshit. Your mum doesn’t like my tats, and I would’ve worn less piercings if I’d known, maybe prepared a few conversation starters about the fucking weather, like.” 

That… makes a fair bit of sense. Niall doesn’t know if he’s still in trouble, but Zayn brings his arm around Niall’s shoulders and gives his neck a gentle squeeze, so maybe not. 

Niall shows his mum all of the photos, making a point of letting Zayn know just how much he loves everything in those pictures. 

“Louis took this one, Mum,” he says. “Louis’ Harry’s boyfriend.” 

“Do all gay people just hang out?” she jokes. 

Thankfully, Zayn just says, “It’s easier to be with people who get what you’re going through, like, knowing that they won’t judge you or anything.” 

“I’m not judging,” Maura says quickly. “But I suppose that all of my friends are straight, so what would I know?” 

After that, there’s nothing dramatic. Maura drives them back, dropping Zayn off first (he thanks her and tips his chin at Niall). Zayn’d gone stiff like a wooden plank when he’d tried to pay for his own meal and drinks only to have Maura shake her head and laugh, she’s got this one, and Niall didn’t miss Zayn leaving a tenner on the table, under his glass. 

“He’s fetching,” Maura stage-whispers. “What lovely eyes.” 

Niall’s phone buzzes. 

“It’s Harry,” he lies. 

> From: Zayn — 8.15pm: _No hard feelings. Pls be a bit more considerate next time ? Maura is v cool. Love you xx_

“Zayn and I have been going out for five months and a bit,” Niall says, coughing to clear the relief edging him near breathless. 

“That’s quite good,” Maura nods. 

“We were thinking about getting a hotel room for our six-month,” he adds. 

“Oh, really?” she replies unsteadily. 

And maybe Niall’s unrelenting need for his mum’s approval stems from the way she’d looked visibly shaken when he came out to her by mentioning a guy in PE who he’d thought was really, really fit. In truth, this guy didn’t even exist, but he’d been so desperate to be casual about the whole sexuality thing that the lie just popped out. Maura was too surprised to notice. 

“Just to watch a film and get some peace and quiet,” he says, appealing to her motherly side. “Greg’s always making noise, and Zayn has three sisters, so we’re going to watch _Batman: Under the Red Hood_ and eat shitty food.” 

“You’re not going to get up to nonsense, are you?” Maura questions in the steely tone she gets. Having dates is fine. Being in love is fine. Mucking around is teetering into the Not Okay zone, and fucking is absolutely banned. She’s strongly Catholic like that. She doesn’t even know that Greg and Denise are doing it. 

“Nope,” Niall says. 

“Good.” The indicator flickers left. 

Greg bounds out of the house, and Niall races past him, hissing, “Your turn,” and proceeding to clamber up the stairs at a speed that has him puffing on his inhaler when he gets to his room. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Wednesday night is performance night. Shit. 

Not a lot of people turn up to the performance, but Zayn’s there, three rows back, beside Harry, Louis, Liam, Sophia, Gemma, and Gemma’s girlfriend, Eleanor. It makes this easier, them being here, although following up Jesy, Perrie, Jade, and Leigh-Anne’s _Wings_ is enough to tug his bollocks back into his gut. 

“Aw, look at you,” Jesy grins, hyped from singing. “Knock ’em dead, Horan, break a leg, I don’t know. You’ll do so well, yeah? We’ll be watching.” 

The actual performance isn’t like a film. He gets out there and sings to his favourite people in the world from the stage. His mum even starts crying, accepting the arm that Harry puts around her with a smile. All in all, it goes well. There’s a standing ovation mid-song (he knew the bridge would be a hit) from his mates, including—Niall nearly fucks up his chord—some of the people from the party. It’s at least a pass, though Niall hopes for more, and that’s enough to have him grinning through the evening. 

“You bastard,” Louis grins. “How the fuck’ve I not heard you sing like _that_? You’ve been holding back on me. _Bastard_.” 

Maura’s actually wiping tears off her face, gratefully accepting a pocket-pouch of tissues offered by Eleanor. “Flawless,” she chokes out. “That was brilliant.” 

Zayn holds Niall’s face and smiles so broadly it’s like the heavens are opening and the angels are singing so sweetly that Niall just tips his cheek further into Zayn’s palm. 

“My beautiful boy,” Zayn whispers into his ear. 

When they’re in the car park, waiting for Maura to stop mum-chatting with Anne, Zayn won’t detach from Niall’s lips, mumbling, “Absolutely sick,” and “Amazing,” when he can be bothered to pull away for long enough. He flicks butterfly kisses onto Niall’s cheeks and holds him there. 

“I found a place for the weekend,” he says excitedly. “I sent you the link. Did you see it?” 

Niall has. It’s a quiet motel, and the room has a small kitchen, a telly (with a DVD player), and a big bed. Perfect. He told his mum that it had two, but his dad later nudged him into quietly confessing that there was just the one. Bobby says he won’t tell Maura, although he did awkwardly place a box of condoms on Niall’s desk and then hurry out like his body was too big for his skin. 

“’S nice,” Niall nods. 

“Yeah?” His tone pitches with hope. “I’ll get Mum to book it for next weekend, like. Is that okay?” 

“Definitely,” Niall grins, patting the side of Zayn’s head. “What films are we getting?” 

“ _Girls Gone Wild_ ,” Zayn whispers. 

Niall’s still laughing hard when his mum rocks up (finally) (only to get knee-deep into a conversation with Trisha) and forwards Zayn his side of the cost, before he starts Googling _blow job tips_. He’s riding a high, a high that will sink any moment now, but not yet. It’s like he’s weightless, and he wants— well, he wants Zayn, but he _always_ wants Zayn, so it’s nothing new. He settles for games instead. 

Niall hits the spacebar and watches Hannah leap, carefully avoiding the shards of ice. Safaa got him back into Neopets, trusting him with her password to play as many of the games as he could, for enough Neopoints to buy a cat with angel wings. At first it’d been for laughs but now he’s into it, past _Hannah and the Pirate Caves_ and onto the _Ice Caves_. 

Then his phone is ringing shrilly on his desk. Niall’s head falls back of its own accord at the sound, body protesting as it’s dragged from the warmth, and he falls right back onto the mattress. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Niall, it’s me,” Liam says. 

“’Lo.” Niall looks to his laptop, debating as to whether or not he can play _and_ talk. He decides _yes_ , slinging it into his lap and jumping to hit a box. 

“I was going to ask Louis, but he’d give me a ridiculous answer, and then Harry, but then he’d tell Louis anyway, and Zayn would tell me not to, and Andy would laugh, so I called you.” Impossible as it seems, Niall can _hear_ Liam blushing. 

“Calm down, Payno,” Niall grins. Hannah scurries up the ladder. “Wha’ss’is that’s got your knickers in a knot?” 

“Okay, um, I was texting Sophia about sports or something, and we were getting flirty, and it suddenly just got _dirty_ ,” he says, slow like he’s choosing each word letter-by-letter. 

“Sexy-dirty?” Niall asks, just to clarify, not _really_ being able to understand how the mad pick-and-mix of things resembling words that Liam puts together in a text can actually be a turn-on. 

Liam clears his throat. “Yeah, sexy-dirty, Niall. She sent me a… photo.” 

“Did she?” Niall gasps. “Of what?” 

“Her boobs.” 

“Yeah? What’d you say, man?” 

“Well, they’re very nice, so I said that they’re very nice,” Liam replies in a small voice. 

“ _Please_ don’t tell me that you used text language,” Niall groans. 

“I didn’t, I— Is that important? Niall,” Liam huffs. “What do I send back?” 

Barely holding back from cackling ( _“Me, Liam? Really? Is this how desperate you are?”_ ) Niall keeps it professional, and says, “Can you see her nipples?” 

“No,” Liam scoffs, sounding embarrassed. “She’s wearing a bra.” 

“What kind?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Just curious.” 

“It’s, uh, white, trimmed black, with a pink bow in the middle. Happy?” 

Niall laughs. “Sure, Liam.” He takes a second to think. “I suppose you just… go equal, don’t you? Do what she did.” 

Liam hisses, “Wear a bra?” and Niall cracks up even harder. 

“No, I mean, send her a shirtless photo, not _wear a bra_ , you dafty,” he snorts. “Oh my god. Why did you even— Don’t answer that, actually. It doesn’t matter. Keep it neck-down, alright? Get a bit of your boxers in, too. Don’t put your face in.” 

“Do I take a selfie, or a photo in the mirror?” Liam’s voice gets quieter. “I’m sorry. This is so stupid.” 

“No, Liam, it’s okay,” Niall sighs. “Lie on your bed, put an arm behind your head, and take a selfie from on top, not from a down angle. Taking a mirror shot is too, like, cliché.” 

“Okay.” Liam takes a deep breath. “Okay, Niall. Thanks, babe.” 

“’S alright. See you at school tomorrow. Let me in on all the juicy details, eh?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Liam says distractedly. “G’night, Niall.” 

“G’night,” Niall grins. 

He leans away from the edge of his bed and to the top, finding Zayn’s name familiar and warm on the screen, and hits the green telephone. Zayn doesn’t answer. 

> To: Zayn — 10.32pm: _Call me pls !_

As he’s midway through spitting toothpaste into the sink, he hears his ringtone go off. Rinsing his toothbrush, he wipes his mouth with the side of his fits and jogs through, missing Zayn’s call by a fucking _second_. Ugh. 

Thankfully, the universe decides to stop dicking them around, and Zayn answers immediately. 

“Yeah, love?” he murmurs. “Was just about to go to bed.” 

“Sorry,” Niall says sheepishly. 

“’S okay,” Zayn says. “Why’re you up? You got back ages ago.” 

“Don’t laugh,” Niall grins. “I’ve been playing Neopets.” 

Zayn gives a sigh so heavy it could crush cities. “What the fuck, babe.” 

“For your sister, I promise!” Niall argues. “I’m being an amazing boyfriend, being cool with your sister.” 

“Don’t lie. You’re being a little bitch. You’re doing this because you’re _scared_ ,” Zayn cackles. 

Niall gapes at his phone, mocking offence. “Oi. That’s only _partly_ true.” 

“Whatever,” Zayn sniggers. “What’d you call for?” 

There’s no hiding it now, not without lying, and Zayn’s made it clear that he doesn’t like that. “Liam called me,” Niall says. “Sophia sent him pictures.” 

“Yeah?” Zayn replies. “What kind?” 

Niall shrugs, mumbling, “Nudey pictures.” 

The phone’s comfortable hum fizzles into quiet, like Niall’s words washed over it, swept the line clean. He gets ready to backtrack, to mention that Liam had been so nervous and it was funny, is all, and then Zayn says, calmly, “Niall.” 

“Yeah?” It’s so easy to give in to the silky tone, in a way that erases his worry. 

“Are you about to ask me for a photo?” 

He says _photo_ like _hand job_ or _blow job_ or _fuck_ , voice lithe and dirty. 

“No,” Niall laughs softly, earnest. “I just wanted to tell you.” 

“Hm, well.” Zayn exhales hard, like he’s stretching, and Niall straightens his legs until his thighs burn a little. “Maybe for your birthday, then.” 

Has Zayn ever sent naughty photos? Is this phone call, founded on less-than-innocent motives, going to turn south? Niall presses his hips into the duvet, just in case. “Get it printed on a cake,” he says wryly. 

Zayn chuckles sleepily into his phone, and Niall gets a happy bubble in his chest. 

“Anyway.” Zayn coughs the last of the rasp out of his voice. “I’ve found a film for us to watch.” 

“Yeah, _Girls Gone Wild_ , remember?” Niall jokes. “I’ll get my copy, but you have to bring the popcorn.” 

“Yeah, alright, but _after_ that, I’ve found a copy of _The Usual Suspects_. Have you ever seen it?” Zayn asks, hushed. “It’s sick. Such a good film.” 

Niall nods. “What rating’s it?” 

“Erm, a sixteen, I think? Or d’you mean on IMDB?” Zayn hisses, “ _Shit_.” 

“Zayn, you’re supposed to be sleeping,” someone says sternly, and Niall’s confusion clears. 

“One second, Mum. I’m talking to Niall,” Zayn says. 

“Not too long, love. It’s getting late.” 

“Sorry,” Zayn peeps. 

The door closes. 

“Alright, like, got’ta get off the phone and go to sleep. ’S only Thursday tomorrow,” Zayn sighs, though the last part of the sentence gets muggy with a yawn. 

“Fair enough. I have first off though, because of the performance,” Niall says. 

Zayn mutters, “Lucky bastard,” then, “Love you, Niall. Good _niiight_.” 

“Good night,” Niall grins. “Love you.” 

And that grin doesn’t come off his face nearly all week, even when Louis smacks him for it. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Then the panic sets in, nearly crippling in its severity and how obviously it stints Niall’s excitement for the upcoming weekend. 

It’s not been said outright, but Niall’s heard down the grapevine—or, rather, through Louis and then Harry—that Zayn is planning on sucking him off. That in itself is both the best and scariest thing he’s ever heard. He could barely handle having Zayn touch his dick, and now Zayn wants to put his mouth on it? Niall thinks gingerly that he needs _time_ , but the hand jobs have been spaced between snogs, so they’re not getting each other off left, right, and centre. 

He figures that it’ll only be polite (and absolute aces) to blow Zayn, and he ends up biking to Jesy’s on Thursday afternoon. 

“So. Sucking cock,” she whispers eagerly, yanking him into her bedroom. “Tip number _uno_ – your gag reflex isn’t your best friend, nor something you want to conquer on your first try. Besides, what you _really_ want to focus on is the tip, so deep-throating doesn’t even matter.” 

She presses her index and middle finger together, and says, “What you want to do is cover your teeth when you bob down, and pucker on your way up.” She pushes the fingers in, and Niall tries not to ogle too much, but Jesy’s always had thick, lovely lips, so he indulges a little bit. When she pulls them out, her lips drag against them. “See?” 

His nerves are cooling by the time she gives him a bunch of bananas (“Homework!”) and a kiss on his cheek, sending him on his way. Niall ends up giving a couple of them to Harry, who helps him out with a little too much info considering that Louis is _right there_. Every time Harry offers advice, Louis either cringes or raises his eyebrows, and even adds the occasional, “Yeah, that’s good,” and/or “ _Get in_.” 

Needless to say, Niall takes the opportunity to flee while Louis sprawls out across Harry’s lap. Harry’s words blur and transform into the stupid half-smirk to Louis, which has _no_ place in a conversation with any other human beings present. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Hey, babe,” Zayn sings. 

Flicking the edges of his fringe back and pinning them there with his snapback, Niall leans comfortably into the firm press against his back. 

“Have you packed?” Zayn asks, reaching around and resting his chin on Niall’s shoulder. 

Navigated into Zayn’s lap, Niall nods and furrows his brows. “Of course!” 

Louis looks up over his phone and directs a one-eyebrow-cocked look directly at Niall. Niall makes a wild face back, tongue hanging out. 

“Ew, you’re so gross,” Leigh-Anne teases in a whiny voice, nose crinkled. 

“Aw, let them have their fun,” Harry chastises. 

“I don’t think anyone should be taking advice from Mr. Must Be Attached to Louis’ Dick At All Times,” Sophia mumbles. 

Harry pouts at Louis, who just leans in and pecks Harry’s cheeks without his thumbs leaving the screen. They’ve been a bit off, lately. Niall thinks that maybe he could talk about it with Zayn, see what he knows, but then that sprinkles extra thoughts onto _their weekend_ , so probably not. He’ll ask afterwards. Or text Harry. 

“Can’t wait for tomorrow,” Zayn whispers, playfully exaggerating his accent. 

Niall rests his head back, but that’s too uncomfortable, so he swings his legs up and leans against the wall instead, asking, “What are we going to do for dinner?” 

“Mum’s making spicy chicken curry. I’ll be chef, you can be… dishwasher,” Zayn grins. 

Niall giggles helplessly. Cleaning could be an excellent way for them to put kitchen blow jobs on the table. 

“Me in a maid outfit – imagine,” Niall cackles. 

Louis scoots over and stage-whispers to Zayn, “ _Don’t stand up!_ ” and Zayn swats him away. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

He packs his things that night. 

(Okay, he lied about having already packed, but Zayn showed up late to Liam’s car after school, so they’re even?) 

Harry snuck a bottle of strawberry-flavour lube into Niall’s pencil case. It goes right at the bottom of Niall’s toiletry bag, next to a couple of condoms (just in case) and his toothbrush. 

> From: Harry — 7.01pm: _Lou’s not talking to me :(_  
> 

Niall frowns at his cellphone. 

> to: Harry — 7.02pm: _What do you mean he’s not talking to u?_

> From: Harry — 7.04pm: _He’s not answering my texts :( but he kissed me extra hard after school? Do you think he’s going to break up with me?_

“Ugh,” Niall groans. He doesn’t— he doesn’t have the _mind_ for this. He has to focus on _Zayn_ , on tomorrow night, on whether he packs boxers or briefs. 

> To: Harry — 7.07pm: _Probably not ! Give him some space , maybe? Hm. Dont confront him probably. Leave him alone for the night? He might just be in a funk!_

He eventually settles on wearing his four-leaf clovers briefs (with LUCKY printed on the seat, opening up countless opportunities for wise-cracks) for Sunday, and plain, black briefs for tomorrow – they make his package look good and his arse look even better. He pings the waistband and scratches his happy trail. 

> To: Harry — 7.10pm: _Hey sorry to interrupt but quick question. shave or no shave ?_

Just as he’s about to throw a big, grand _fuck it_ into the universe and head for the shower, Harry _finally_ replies. 

> From: Harry — 7.14pm: _Just trim. Keep it tidy. Comb and nail scissors. Be careful around your boys!!!_

Oh, god. 

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Walls creamy, carpet soft, the room is light and simple. Niall turns to Zayn, chuffed, and grins wildly as he drops his backpack. 

It’d been a struggle to get inside, but the manager was more sympathetic than the man at the desk, offering a kind smile and the key in exchange for a phone call with Niall’s and Zayn’s dads to make sure that they knew where their sons were. After that, they went straight to their room, and now Zayn’s practically pressing his face through the window to look at the stretch of lawn and trees. 

“That’ll make a sick sunset.” He wipes his breath off the glass. “You got your iPod on you?” 

“Yeah,” Niall answers eagerly, sifting through his pockets. He’s in khakis, light and baggy and easy, a crisp contrast when he looks at Zayn’s jeans. The label says “Sinfully Skinny” and Niall is ninety nine percent sure that they’re from the women’s section. 

“Let’s look at the bed, like,” Zayn suggests. “Put our bags down and that.” 

“Definitely.” Niall puts his iPod on the speakers and hits play. 

“Any _good_ music on this thing?” Zayn mutters, bypassing ’N Sync (fucking _Harry_ ). He eventually settles on some _Blink-182_ , scrunching his lips together and bobbing his head, reaching out for Niall’s fingers. 

It’s no different than Niall had expected, only it is, because it’s _theirs_. Their first hotel bed. The first bed they can share and muck around in, without the stiffened edge accenting every breath, every movement or kiss, to make sure their respective parents don’t know what’s going on. 

It’s. All. _Theirs_. 

Niall crawls onto the bed, flops, and crooks his limbs. 

“Draw me like one of your French girls.” 

Zayn groans mockingly. “Original, Horan.” 

“Don’t need to be, when you look _this_ good, Malik,” Niall lobs back. 

Seemingly agreeing, Zayn shrugs and opens his bag. “Alright, have to put these in the fridge.” 

Niall watches him go, pondering. There’s been no talk of blow jobs between them, but there’s something in the air that feels static with anticipation. Niall wouldn’t think it normal of Zayn to tell him about evening coital plans, anyway; while Niall wears his heart on his sleeve, Zayn plays his hand close to his chest. Knowing this, Niall usually tends to let things slide, trailing after them to see where they go. 

And if he ends up with his brain sucked out through his cock, so be it. 

Tricia lives up to the bar she’s set herself, with Zayn only having to cook some chicken, heat the curry, and mix, for an absolutely _amazing_ dinner that leaves Niall sated and sleepy. He thinks of the big bed, and Zayn’s arms, then remembers the movie, shaking the drowsiness from his skin while he scrubs the pots. Zayn pops the DVD in and fumbles with the sound, patting cushions down and leaving his body open, knees tipped outward, arm stretched along the back of the sofa. 

“We’re never getting married,” Niall says as he dries his hands. 

“Oh, yeah?” Zayn’s smile crooks. “Why’s that?” 

Niall gestures to the towel in his hand and then Zayn’s sprawl. “Because I’ll end up as a housewife while you turn into a slob.” 

Zayn seems to consider it. “You could rock an apron, some kitten heels, maybe a nice headband that ties in at the top.” 

“And nothing else,” Niall grins, curling into Zayn’s side. 

“Maybe some boxers, or I’d never let you get any work done,” Zayn hums. 

“Fair enough. Apron, heels, headband, _and_ boxers.” 

Zayn snorts and plays the movie. 

At first, Niall doesn’t get it. He knows Kevin Spacey from _7even_ , but he has a little bit of trouble following the beginning. Then the drug deal starts to unravel, and he internally mimics Fenster for later use. 

The plot is pretty twisted, and he’s sensing an _Ocean’s Eleven_ finish, with all the clever gadgets and shit, stealing the cocaine and making off with millions. However, the men’s faces aren’t so sly and knowing, but rather confused. 

And then _bam_ , the ending ties it up and bursts, spilling over as Niall gapes at the screen. 

“Oh fuck,” he whispers. “Holy shit, Zayn.” 

“ _Wicked_ , right?” Zayn laughs. 

“Everything we just watched… Total bullshit.” He looks to the carpet and collapses on the sofa. “Amazing.” 

“Definitely. Love that film.” Zayn pushes his hand through Niall’s hair, messing it up. “Let’s brush our teeth, yeah?” 

Despite the insistently welcoming door to the bedroom, Niall agrees; nobody wants to wake up with curry-infused morning breath. Niall goes for a wee while Zayn takes a quick shower, forcing the mouthwash through his teeth as Zayn grabs for the towel on the railing. Niall spits. 

On the bath mat, Zayn pauses, his reflection smudgy against the steamed mirror, but the image growing larger as he moves to press against the slim line of Niall’s body. 

“Want you tonight, like,” he murmurs, then kisses Niall’s neck, “a _lot_. All of you. Wan’ta see you naked.” 

“Okay,” Niall says immediately. He’s awful at the hard-to-get thing. 

“Cool,” Zayn hums, leaving the bathroom with a hand pinched at the waist of his towel. 

Niall breathes, stabilises himself. His clothes feel very warm but dampened with the air, body stirring with the first flickers of proper arousal. He’s going to be stripped, nude in front of the world’s prettiest boy, to be judged. He takes off his trousers. 

And just like a few weeks ago, Zayn is reading, glasses on, calm. He’s wearing boxers and no shirt, looking the part of a hot nerd in a porno. Does that make Niall the fun-loving fratboy? 

His fingers find the hem of his shirt before Zayn even closes the book. 

“Hey, wait,” Zayn says softly. Niall stops. “C’mon, now. We can do better than that.” 

Niall switches his weight, locking one hand around the opposite wrist. “Sorry.” 

“Nah, nah. Just c’m’ere.” Smiling tenderly, Zayn scoots to the edge of the bed and outstretches his arms, creating a space for Niall. 

Parting his thighs over Zayn’s lap—and swallowing the tremors cluttering his throat—Niall pushes his hips up against Zayn’s. There, he gets so caught up in his worry that he opens his mouth a second too late, lips lazy and pliant until his brain kickstarts. 

The rest is so easy, so familiar, so safe. Zayn feels good and strong and stable, his little hands smoothing down Niall’s sides, under his tee shirt, soothing the stiff bow of worry from his spine. Niall lets his body melt so that their torsos line up, arse pushed out how he knows Zayn appreciates it best, and Zayn _does_ , grip gentle but sure. His hips shift and Niall makes sure to have just the right amount of give to the pressure, not so soft as to leave no friction, not so stubborn as to let Zayn know of the distracting thoughts peeking into his head. 

_Lips_

__

_Tongue_

__

_Make it wet, cover your teeth, keep your grip_

“You okay?” Zayn murmurs. 

It’s probably just to make sure. Zayn’s good like that. Niall whispers, “Yeah. Nervous.” 

Zayn pulls away, lips catching into a soft grin. “Let’s get this off?” He slips Niall’s tee shirt to his ribs. 

He’s just in his briefs when he starts grinding down on Zayn’s dick, rubbing his own into Zayn’s stomach. He wonders if this is what it’s like to ride someone. The slow movements pick up and Zayn grabs Niall’s arse harder, working him at the pace he wants while Niall tucks himself into Zayn’s shoulder and tries not to pant in his ear. A couple of times, he defies Zayn’s grip, holding himself rigid until the starting build of an orgasm teeters and backs off. He won’t come from this, not if he can help it. 

“Stand up,” Zayn prompts, patting Niall’s waist. 

Niall stands, fingers zipping into each other in front of him, Zayn eyeing his cock eagerly. Keeping his stupidly knobbly knees pinched together in his attempt to not crumble, Niall answers Zayn’s needy whimper with a smile, hips tilting forward when Zayn leans in. 

Zayn holds Niall’s hips like it’ll keep Niall from falling apart, where the bone boasts no pudge over it. He doesn’t even go for Niall’s dick, choosing to raise his chin to the bottom of Niall’s sternum, below where the first tufts of chest hair are starting to show in dirty-gold strands. He mouths his way down slowly and with hot breath damp against Niall’s skin, keeping him constantly on the edge of a shiver or a breathy grunt. Niall inhales so quickly that a cough scratches his throat, but he swallows it down because he wants _this_ Zayn—his hungry gaze and obvious stiffy—to remain as he is. Choking on his own spit while Zayn nuzzles against his bellybutton could well clutter the effect. 

“You good?” Zayn asks, fingertips toying with the band of Niall’s briefs. 

Niall nods shakily. “Can I lie down?” 

“Yeah, let me just…” He lifts his legs onto the bed, body stretching along the length of the mattress like he’s _trying_ to wreck Niall, dishevel him with nothing more than his smoulder and the narrow dip from his broad shoulders to his little waist. Niall pushes his briefs to his knees and steps out of them. 

“There’s a good lad,” Zayn grins. “God, I wanna blow you. How’s that sound?” 

“Sounds fuckin’ brilliant,” Niall breathes, settling down next to him. 

Zayn’s fingers curl easily around Niall’s thick shaft, using nice, long strokes to work him up some more. When Niall’s breath goes shallow and gruff, Zayn gives him a chance to back out, a pause to think, and all Niall thinks is that it’s probably not worth having Zayn’s mouth on his dick if he’s going to nut off as quickly as he feels. 

But when Zayn gets between Niall's legs and replaces his thumb with his tongue in a languid lick, Niall’s body locks up. Zayn slides the tip between his lips and bobs to halfway, and Niall’s positive that his brain could explode. Inside Zayn’s mouth is silky-soft, tongue smooth, movements done in a steady rhythm even though Niall’s thighs are trembling like mad. 

When he dares to look down— oh, bloody _fuck_. Zayn has his elbows out, forearms weighing down Niall’s hips in case he bucks by accident, and his shoulders are high. Niall forces himself to sit up, propped with one straightened arm holding his slumped body, the other hand tracing half of the gentle slope from Zayn’s shoulders down. He can’t even make a lot of noise even though Zayn’s lovely, wet lips warrant all sorts of sounds, just gasps when Zayn slurps and hums. 

“Let me know when you’re g’nna,” Zayn says quietly, smearing the spit on his chin with the square of his palm. 

“Now,” Niall chokes out. 

Zayn gets to his knees, and Niall’s hand freezes on his shoulder, finding the anchor that he needs so that he doesn’t implode or— _something_ , whatever. Zayn tries for a kiss that Niall’s lips are too slack for, so they keep close as Niall squeezes his eyes shut and comes down his tummy, messy and thick. 

Things get cold and damp quite quickly, but there are tissues by the bed that Zayn uses to clean Niall up. All Niall wants is a cuddle. He falls in a spectacular sprawl against the bed, tries to regain a regular heartbeat, and grins. 

“It was alright, then?” Zayn asks, voice splitting halfway through so that he has to clear his throat. 

“Pretty average,” Niall grunts. 

He promptly bursts into giggles at the disbelief in Zayn’s quirked brow, irking laughter between them until Zayn’s chuckling softly into his chest. His lips feel warm and damp, kind on Niall’s blush, a calming cool to soothe the intensity. 

As Niall’s laugh fades to a content hum, Zayn pushes up on his arms and adjusts their positions. Niall’s legs have fallen open, and at first Niall thinks that Zayn’s going to slot himself in, hips so narrow that they fit perfectly between Niall’s thighs, but Zayn leaves his own knees open in a V, hooking Niall’s legs over them. 

“This okay?” Zayn asks. 

Niall doesn’t know what he’ll see when he finally looks at Zayn’s face now that his body is just _there_ , cock soft and small, thighs parted and _exposed_. Christ. 

“Niall?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s gaze catches on Zayn’s face before he can stop himself. “Yeah, it’s fine.” 

“Cool,” Zayn smiles. The edges blur and lose the brightness, face going from beam to glow as he drinks in the sight. With Zayn’s hands gently stroking his thighs, Niall starts to feel airy and tired, the slack ache relaxing into a pleasant buzz. “Very pretty.” 

Niall looks down to where his dick’s out, shrunken back into its foreskin, and moves a lazy hand to cover himself up. Zayn frowns and intercepts, gripping Niall’s wrist and pressing it onto the pillow. 

“My turn, yeah?” he whispers. He’s starting to rock his crotch against Niall’s arse cheek, holding in close, rubbing in tight circles to get hard. 

“You’ll have to talk me through it,” Niall warns. 

“That’s okay.” Zayn shifts, pulls back, gets his cock out. “Sit on the floor. ’S easier on your arms. Also,” he raises the bottle of lube that Harry gave Niall, bringing a flash of lava-red to the surface of Niall’s face, “found this.” 

Niall grabs a pillow as he nearly rolls off the bed, flattening it out on the floor for his knees. They’ve always been dodgy and untrustworthy at best, and it’d be just his luck to fuck one up while he’s having a go at giving head. Zayn reaches down to remove (and chuck aside) his briefs, jerking himself off a few times as he finds a comfortable position. The way he’s sitting has his cock angled up against his stomach, so Niall reaches up and gets familiar with the feel. 

He closes his eyes when he starts sucking Zayn down, slowly, like everyone’s told him, no rush. The gasp that comes immediately after quickly dips into a low moan, and Niall moves his hand tangent with his mouth, pushing his lips out and pulling them in. 

There’s absolutely no room for his tongue to move unless he’s only got the tip in, and that’s rubbish, he’s read. He’s supposed to use his tongue. He’s supposed to move down and gently mouth at Zayn’s bollocks, but he settles for just palming them carefully, too scared that if he pulls off, he won’t go back on. He’s rippling with nerves and fucking it up, probably. 

“That’s good, like that,” Zayn sighs. He licks his lips, dry from his panting. “You look so good like this.” 

After something like that, Niall feels like he should keep going, only his jaw protests with a stiff ache. He’s not as bad as he thought, which is good. Zayn likes it. Fantastic. Niall rubs his slavered chin on the duvet, wanking Zayn off as he thinks about what to do next. 

Zayn is blowing out air and heaving it back in through his nose, cheeks puffing and hollowing as he gets closer. Tonguing the tip, Niall tastes the first tang of salt, weirdly sweet and sticky. 

“Move, or I’m’n’na,” Zayn starts, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes out, “I’m’g’nna come. _Fuck_.” 

Niall’s fist keeps short and snappy at the head, shifting straight up on his knees so that the first hot splatters of come hits his throat, then down, while Zayn huffs loudly. His skin has broken out in goosebumps and sweat, shiny and tan and rough to the touch. 

Then Niall goes to wipe himself off, and Zayn’s holding his hand, keeping him there with nothing more than a gentle tug. 

“Gi’me a sec,” he rasps. 

Niall honestly believes that if Zayn always talked like that—the tiniest hint of a _beg_ —he’d do anything he asked, no questions. Zayn’s gaze projects the same thing, all unhinged energy that’s turned to a mere simmer in the soft line of his lashes. 

“God, you look…” Zayn says it like he doesn’t trust his voice. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

Niall can feel himself glowing, the shining star in Zayn’s eyes. Naked, come dripping down his torso, he doesn’t feel judged, or ugly, or weedy, or gross. He feels _loved_ , warm and comfortable. _Beautiful_ , like Zayn said. _Zayn said that he’s beautiful_. 

“Sorry, go ahead,” Zayn says eventually, lips pinched into a tilted smile. “Just needed to commit that to memory.” 

“Pervert,” Niall snickers. 

“Only for you,” Zayn says wearily. 

Zayn is tucked into bed once Niall’s cleaned the come off, curled up and watching Niall with drowsy eyes. Niall slips on a pair of boxers and flicks off the light, but Zayn is still naked, still lovely and warm. 

“Birthday’s coming up,” Zayn murmurs, resting his arm on Niall’s chest. 

“Yours?” Niall asks. 

“No, yours,” Zayn smirks. “Couple of weeks, yeah.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Niall breathes in, wants to press his nose into Zayn’s hair and cuddle. “What’re you getting me?” 

“Dun’no, yet. What would you like?” 

“Snapback, maybe. Them photos’d be good,” Niall grins cheekily. 

Zayn mumbles into his shoulder, “Anything else?” 

“Like what?” Niall asks. 

“Like…” Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Zayn chews his lip. The long sweep of his collarbone has Niall thinking that he could go again in just a second. “Sexy stuff. Anything special?” 

“ _Birthday sex_ ,” Niall sings softly, then gets a tad more serious. “I don’t know. Could you blow me again?” 

Zayn actually starts to laugh, irking Niall into a nervous smile, because he can’t stay neutral-faced when Zayn’s nose is wrinkling with his giggles. He kindly tucks his face into Niall’s neck and pushes hot puffs of laughter into his skin. 

“I’ll blow you _anyway_ , Niall,” Zayn chuckles, leaning his cheek on Niall’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to pick something I wouldn’t normally let you do.” 

“Oh.” That makes sense, Niall thinks gingerly. “Like what, then?” 

“Don’t know, I s’pose. We’re not up to anything kinky, yet, so it’s all vanilla,” Zayn says offhandedly. “Just pick something.” 

There is _one_ thing, one thing that’d always gotten Niall excited at the thought, and he hopes he’s not overstepping the line. It’s just that Zayn’s so fucking _pretty_ , and his cheekbones are so high and inviting, how they slant into the slim pout of his lips utterly lethal when Niall’s already completely smitten. 

“Can I come on your face?” he asks. 

Zayn’s eyebrows drop, darkening the shadows framing his eyes. “What? Why?” 

Niall shrugs, mouth turning down at the corners. Harry calls it his “Muppet face”. 

“Why d’you want that?” Zayn hedges gently. 

“I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Niall says. “Is it just a porn thing?” 

“It’s not,” Zayn replies, defence cooling. “Yeah, alright. You can do that.” 

“Yeah?” Niall grins. “Sick.” 

“Can’t wait for _my_ birthday,” Zayn mutters, rolling over for the light. 

But when that light goes off, the night ends, and Niall doesn’t want that, not yet, not now, not when he knows that he’s going to cream on Zayn’s cheekbones and chin and lips, oh God. The night is young, his cock’s hard, and when he turns over and pushes his leg between Zayn’s, Zayn notices. 

“C’mon,” Niall groans. “One more. We’re teenagers. We can do this.” 

Zayn snorts and agrees, letting Niall pant into his (lovely, lovely) collarbone as he wanks Niall off. Niall brings his hand to Zayn’s side, feeling the sweat-damp skin over his ribs, locks his fingers on Zayn’s bicep as he moans and comes down Zayn’s tummy. Some of his jizz dribbles onto the gun tattoo, and Niall cackles, “Bang bang!” weakly while Zayn continues to look a nice mix of fond and unimpressed. 

“Very funny,” he comments dryly. “Alright, sleeping now.” 

Really, Niall’s got no room to argue, although he’d sort-of like to see Zayn get off again even if his body’s feeling a bit jelly-ish at the moment. 

“L _ooo_ ve you, Zayn,” he sighs. 

“Love you,” Zayn grins, patting the hair from Niall’s forehead. 


	12. Raging Exhibitionism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two months of no updates. *Laughs nervously*
> 
> I was trying to clear out my _Unfinished One-shots_ folder, but alas, I only got rid of four. Others got half-done, some got nearly completed.
> 
> Anyway, here you go! I'll try to be more on-schedule from now on!
> 
> Again, thanks to my betas, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/), [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/).
> 
> tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!

In the middle of the single best dirty dream he’s ever had, Niall wakes up. He’s staring at the ceiling, a big white square that goes from plain to the slightest inkling of a pattern – some faint, tan flowers that curl and twine into each other. All too quickly he realises what woke him up, though it doesn’t take a genius to realise that the deep, throaty hums are coming from between his legs. His brows knot up and his eyes snap shut, stomach tightening and releasing from a particularly hard suck that Zayn gives the tip.

Niall wonders how long Zayn’s been down there, what would’ve happened if Niall hadn’t been swerved into consciousness before it was over. He’s sweaty in that rank night-after sort of way that would usually have him ducking into the shower before he tries to get a lick of action (pun intended) but if Zayn doesn’t mind, then Niall’s not going to get caught up in wor _ry_ —

“ _Oh_ ,” he moans, bringing his hands up to the headboard. “Fuck, _please_.”

He knows that he’s panting, wriggling, and if his fingers weren’t biting into the bed frame he’d have wound them so fucking tight into Zayn’s hair, and all he can think of is coming into Zayn’s mouth. He doesn’t know if that’s a thing he’s allowed, if it’d feel better than doing it outside, but Zayn’s lips and tongue are so soft _inside_ that he can’t— _can’t stop thinking about it_.

Release courses through him like dominos, a perfect start to a perfect morning. His limbs flop heavily and his stomach aches from clenching a bit too hard, but he just got sucked off at nine in the morning, so all’s good.

“Fucking hell, Niall,” Zayn snorts, wiping his mouth.

“Lots?” Niall guesses sheepishly.

“A bit, yeah,” Zayn grins. “Morning, lovely.”

“Lovely morning,” Niall replies, words a gentle, post-orgasm hum. “How long were you down there?”

Zayn shrugs. “A while.”

“Are you…?” Niall trails off, leaving the _hard_ , _horny_ , or _up for letting me try blowing you again?_ hanging.

“’Course,” Zayn breathes out.

This time, Niall notices things that he didn’t bother to pick up last night, like the sweaty, spitty smell, or the stubble creeping up to Zayn’s bellybutton.

“Do you shave your happy trail?” he pulls off to ask.

“What? Yeah,” Zayn replies, distracted, and guides Niall’s head back down. “Do the thing, lick up the sides.”

A string of saliva sticks to the tip, and Niall bats it away, face flushing. He doesn’t crook his head enough, and his nose bumps against Zayn’s shaft as he licks, and he wipes his own spit off. He doesn’t remember being this uncoordinated.

Ugh, mornings.

“Faster, please.”

Speed works a firmer ache into Niall’s jaw, is the thing, but he doesn’t refuse. Zayn’s dick slides too far down his throat twice, but Niall hastily slips off just in time to avoid embarrassing himself to the ninth degree, thank Jesus.

Zayn has his eyes closed, so he doesn’t catch the look of disgust when he comes in Niall’s mouth, and Niall has to push his fingers to his lips to make himself swallow. Feeling guilty for gagging, he presses an apologetic kiss to Zayn’s hipbone.

“Sorry,” Zayn smirks. “You like swallowing?”

Niall does something that he’s trying not to do: he lies.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he pushes out. His throat isn’t sore, but it feels open and stretched, weird.

Niall has two texts from Harry:

> From: Harry! — 7.22am: _Hey. Lou cancelled on me. Are you free? Don’t want to be by myself today._

> From: Harry! — 7.28pm: _Shit, you’re with Zayn. Sorry. Forgot. I’ll ask Liam. Have fun x_

This is getting silly. Niall wonders how their break-up would affect the group – if it happened, that is, but at this rate Niall’s not putting his money on them rekindling their relationship. He wonders how he’d put the pieces of Harry back together again.

“That Harry?” Zayn asks. Niall nods.

They haven’t kissed yet, though the slick coating on Niall’s teeth says that it’s probably for the best. Once he’s clean and showered, he finds Zayn actually brushed his teeth before, and is ready to go again.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Niall grins.

“Nah, c’mon. We have this room till twelve. If we pack up at half-eleven, we’ve got two hours between now and then,” Zayn insists, shy eyes sparkling hopefully. “We don’t even have to suck each other off.”

That’s doable, Niall thinks happily.

“Yeah, okay.” Niall fumbles hastily for his towel. This’ll be his third orgasm in the past twelve hours, so it could hurt a little bit. Then he remembers that he probably won’t get a chance for a romp like this at home _ever_ , and quickly clambers over Zayn’s body, forgetting to be sexy and smooth and slow.

Zayn grins, his cock flushed pink, thick and heavy, curved on his stomach. They rub together while they snog, and it’s not going to be enough for either of them to come. Even so, between Niall’s own soft tummy and Zayn’s hard, lean stomach, they find a good pressure and even better rhythm, and God help him, Niall is starting to lose focus on Zayn’s lips.

“Fuck,” Zayn whispers as he does something that Niall’s only seen in porn; his hand forms a quick hold on the heads of their dicks, getting them off in easy strokes. The squeeze is _just_ right. The visual is fucking perfect.

“Christ,” Niall says, not surprised when he nuts off before Zayn. His balls ache a little bit from the effort, but that’s okay. He can live with it.

Zayn crawls on top before Niall’s even started to go soft, picking Niall’s hand from where it’d been lying uselessly on his chest. Despite being a bit slow, Niall pumps hard and fast, trying not to stare at Zayn too much even though he’s _really bloody pretty_.

“Shit, Niall.” Zayn ruts his hips forward, and his face, his face is tinted red, and his eyes are fighting to stay open.

Niall finishes Zayn off watching him in awe, thumbing the crown of his cockhead, and that’s what gets Zayn gasping sharp and hard with a messy jerk of his hips. Zayn moans through his pinched lips, head hanging low as the last drops are squeezed out, grinding an extra few noises before it’s too much and he moves off.

Their breathing takes a while to level out. It’s rough, particularly on Zayn’s part. He takes longer than Niall to collect himself again and finally sighs and deflates.

Niall looks to the ceiling like he had when he woke up, until it starts to clear from the fog, and then to his belly.

“Ugh. Your jizz is touching my jizz,” he groans, making a face. “That’s _so_ gay.”

A little frown tilts lazily on Zayn’s lips. “You think _that’s_ gay? Mate, you should see your come face.” His eyes open wider, mouth a stretched oval, panting out, “ _Oh_ , _oh, OH_.” His body tenses through what _might_ be a very good impression of Niall having an orgasm and suddenly melts, lashes fluttering shut. He smiles, dazed, and flicks his eyes back up to Niall.

Niall licks his lips because _shit_ , he feels like he should be paying a monthly subscription fee just to see Zayn’s face.

“Do I really look like that?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Flopping onto his side, Zayn brushes his thumb through Niall’s hair, lifting it from his forehead. “Like, blissed out, all pink, relaxed, and,” his neat tongue peeks out over his bottom lip, “perfect.”

Niall squirms. What does he say to that? What does he say when someone absolutely god-like, stunning in every way, looking even more so now that he’s winding down from the peak of coming, says that _he_ looks perfect? He crams his palms into his face so he doesn’t have to reply, rolling onto his other side.

“Hey, wait, what?” Zayn asks. The mattress sinks where he’s sitting as he moves.

“ _I_ look perfect? Have you seen yourself? I’m covered in come, I’ve got these really sore spots on the side of my face, and my skin’s like Casper the Friendly fuckin’ Ghost’s, and you’re like Jesus or som’ng,” he grumbles, whining slightly because Zayn makes him feel like this, makes him nervous.

One arm loops over his waist, careful to avoid the mess that Niall’s wiping up with a tissue. Zayn’s warm lips find the back of Niall’s neck, and he says, “Don’t do that. I love the way you look, especially now. You’re really like, sexy.”

Niall turns his head a bit. Zayn looks just as painfully honest as he does sated. “Yeah?” he asks. “Promise you’re not dicking with me?”

Zayn grins. “Cross my heart, love.”

They stare at each other for a little while. Niall never questioned himself until he dated Zayn, wonky teeth and thin lips be damned, because he may not’ve been an absolute looker, but he was alright. Not like anything was abnormally disproportioned from the rest of him. Zayn has eyes that sparkle like Prince Erik’s from _The Little Mermaid_ , though, so _excuse_ Niall if he starts to contemplate his own existence.

“Alright, then,” Niall sighs. Despite him being such a stunner, Zayn makes these things very easy to believe.

“I love you,” Zayn says. “You’re an amazing boyfriend.”

“Love you, too,” Niall grins, louder to mask the hungry gurgle of his stomach.

Zayn cringes and lets out a little huff of laughter. “Want to go out for breakfast?”

“Shit, yeah,” Niall grins. “Just… A bit under the covers. Spoon up?”

“Mm,” Zayn breathes softly, wriggling onto his side. “Did you like that, though? What I was doing?”

A shudder makes Niall’s skin rough with goosebumps, which soon give way to a warm flush of excitement. “Definitely.” He swallows, wonders if he’s subtle enough when he tenses all his muscles for a quick stretch, pushing his arse a millimetre into Zayn’s crotch. “Did you learn that in porn?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Zayn grins dubiously, kissing just below Niall’s ear. “First time I’ve done it, though. ’S why it was a little choppy, like.”

“Really? I thought it was good,” Niall frowns.

“Yeah? Brilliant.”

Even though he wishes he could, Niall doesn’t think he can spare the effort for another orgasm. He pulls Zayn’s arm around him tighter, studies the tattoos like he has an exam on them later.

“I like your little robot man,” he says softly.

“Same, like, Louis helped me design it,” Zayn smiles into the back of Niall’s neck.

 _Louis_.

(Niall hates that the name of one of his closest friends is turning an ashen grey in his mind.)

“I’ve been meaning to ask, by the way.” Niall clears his throat. “You said you had your cock pierced, but I haven’t seen… it. Anywhere.”

Zayn goes quiet, then whispers, “I need a shower.”

“Stay,” Niall insists. “Forget I asked about it.”

“Nah, I smell,” Zayn snorts, heaving himself up. He grabs a towel and steals a kiss, closes the bathroom door behind him.

Niall huffs and picks up his phone.

> To: Harry! — 9.58am: _Sorry, was busy ;) sucks about Louis! Have you talked yet?_

> From: Harry! — 10.00am: _It’s okay! And no :/ I said we should sit down and chat but he said something has come up. Idk if I believe him._

Niall wants to tell him that they’re not going to break up, and Louis will come to his senses.

He wants to, but he doesn’t.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

There was a time, when they were twelve, where Niall fancied Harry. He thought he’d never find anyone better looking, funnier, happier, or smarter. Harry was just _posh_ and _fun_ and really _pretty_ , and Niall was starting to realise what those feelings meant when Harry got his first girlfriend.

It was a tough time for Niall. Not because Harry had a girlfriend. That was a mere speck of dust to the fucking _meteor_ hurtling towards Niall’s world. He’d thought he was gay, then he relaxed because he liked boobs, so he probably wasn’t. And yet the feelings kept coming even though he thought girls were fit.

Nobody told him about being bisexual.

Nobody told him about the grey area.

Niall had to find that tidbit out for himself.

And amid the flurry of confused heart eyes and questionable wanks, Niall got over Harry.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall and Zayn do end up getting off one last time, and it takes longer. Niall nearly tells Zayn not to bother, but Zayn rubs his thumb nice and firmly behind Niall’s balls, and he’s done for.

Packing up is thankfully easy. Niall puts away the curry container while Zayn washes the jizz off his stomach, checks the bed for anything that could’ve gotten lost, and they’re ready to go.

It’s sad, really, that such a milestone in Niall’s life has been swept up in mere minutes. He’s got photos and memories, but they’ll never do this justice, never be as perfect and crisp as the precious seconds he has before they leave—

“Hey,” Zayn says softly, bumping Niall’s hip. “I love you. Let’s find somewhere to eat.”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Flakes still sticking to his fingertips, Niall swallows the last of his _pain au chocolat_ with a low moan.

“You like that?” Zayn asks.

“Mm.” Niall makes a show of his eyes rolling back. “I _love_ it when you talk dirty.”

Zayn smirks, flicking his tongue over his snakebite. “Is that from _Grease_? Am I Ritz?”

“ _Betty_ ,” Niall corrects.

“Oh, _sorry_ ,” Zayn huffs. “Have you seen _Snatch_ , yet? Or are you too busy watching such quality pieces like _Dirty Dancing_ , _Footloose_ , and _Hairspray_?”

Niall picks a bit of chocolate off his plate, grins, “My mum loves Patrick Swayze.”

“Yeah, same,” Zayn nods. “Never really got the appeal.”

“He’s _manly_ ,” Niall growls, holding up his arms and flexing. “ _Rrr_ , Zayn.”

Zayn starts to laugh in his giggly little way, tongue pressed to his teeth since the café’s relatively quiet. Niall watched him get ready this morning, one piercing after another, saw when Zayn put his eyeliner away without using it. Looking at him now, Niall can hardly image how such dark, thick lashes can exist naturally on a human being’s face. Amazing.

> From: Harry! — 12.39pm: _Payno bringing his top game!_

Attached is a photo of Harry, feigning shock as Liam does a pull up in the background, biceps bulging.

“Your mum?” Zayn guesses.

“Nah, Harry,” Niall answers. “Say cheese!”

Of course, Niall smiles, and Zayn does his pouty thing that he insists is just his neutral expression. Yeah, right. Neutral expressions don’t look like Gucci models.

“He’s a bit lost. I’m glad Liam’s around,” Niall sighs, sending the photo.

Zayn dusts off his hands, says nothing.

“And I think the gym will take his mind off whateverthefuck’s going on with Louis,” he continues, “because it’s eating at him like crazy.”

“Yeah?” Zayn counts out some notes from his wallet.

“Yeah,” Niall echoes. “Has Louis said anything to you?” He’s not usually one for digging, but desperate times…

“A little,” Zayn admits. “Like, I can’t say. I promised, yeah?”

“Oh,” Niall says, his investigation stunted just like that. “Okay.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says, honest apology making his eyes big and his brows slope in.

“It’s alright, really,” Niall shrugs. “Just worried for Harry, and I don’t like seeing him get dicked about, and Louis said he wouldn’t.”

The edges of Zayn’s mouth turn down, defence drawn in his frown. “Louis _wouldn’t_ dick him around. Leave it, love. This’ll fix itself unless you disturb it.”

Niall doesn’t ask what “it” is.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“How was your weekend?”

Harry says it in a completely different way to how Niall’s and Zayn’s mums had; Trisha had picked them up from the café, her voice cheeky and knowing, dear God. Niall’s mum had been suspicious and testy. (Yikes. Not a talk he wants to have.)

“Was good,” Niall grins. “Got off twice at night, three times in the morning.”

“And he blew you?” Harry asks.

Smug hitch to his grin, Niall groans, “Fuck, it was _so_ good.”

“Really?” Harry’s eyebrows draw in tightly. “You didn’t find it hard to come?”

“No. Maybe it’s because he didn’t try to deep-throat,” Niall wonders. “Just moved his hand a bit, sucked on my knob, and finished me off with a hand job.”

Harry looks even more confused, bless him, bless his cosy room, bless Niall’s stars that he has a friend like Harry. “So you didn’t come in his mouth?”

“I did,” Niall allows. “Sunday morning. Maybe it’s because he kept licking m’tip or something. I think it probably would’ve been harder if he was right up in my pubic hair.” Speaking of which, he has a bit of razor rash crawling from his dick to his hip, and it itches like a _bastard_.

“Yeah,” Harry says thoughtfully.

Niall shrugs, adds, “Or Louis could just be really bad at gobbies.”

He’s half-joking (of course he is – he’ll dare any man’s cock to stay totally flaccid after watching Louis eat a banana) but Harry’s grin turns sad, wistful. It’s not a good look on him.

“Prob’ly shouldn’t tell him that,” Harry says softly, and then starts slowly writing something into his Maths book.

“I was kidding,” Niall says.

Harry sighs like he’s a deflating balloon. It’s cold today, as per usual, and Niall can see the white and grey-streaked sky through Harry’s window. “I know, just that _I_ shouldn’t say that. Lou’s not happy with me. Or something.”

“Noticed,” Niall grunts. Harry pushes a hand through his own hair. “The way you two were acting on Friday.”

“Yeah.” Harry pens an answer into his book in slow, smooth handwriting. His face gives away nothing more than disappointment and frustration, which isn’t like him.

Niall eats some crisps. “Did something happen?” he asks after swallowing.

“Erm,” Harry coughs. His expression skews into a sheepish cringe, like when he’d made brownies that hadn’t been cooked all the way through, and were still runny on the inside. “I may have asked him to get tested.”

“Tested,” Niall repeats. “For an STI?”

A little knot screws into the corner of Harry’s mouth, indecisive, though it relocates to that spot between his brows again as he shrugs, “Well, yeah. I said I’d been tested every few months, and Lou said he’d never had one. But he’s barebacked before, so I thought… maybe he should?”

“For fuck’s sake, he _definitely_ should,” Niall agrees. Louis shouldn’t be allowed to spread possible STIs around just because he’s too proud.

“I think he thinks that I was calling him dirty,” Harry frowns, eyes going big and sad. “But I would never.”

“Maybe he’s ashamed,” Niall says, correcting his line of thinking aloud. “Or scared. What would you do if he has Chlamydia or something? I’m not saying he does, Harry, but you did the right thing.”

“Yeah, I s’pose,” Harry mumbles. “Lou kissed me really hard on Friday, and we haven’t really talked aside from that. I don’t know if we’re going to split up.” His cheeks puff out with a sigh, scrubbing his cheek with his fist, like he’s tired, and chews his lip. “I love him, Niall.”

“Yeah, bro, I know that,” Niall nods.

“I don’t know what I’d do if he left me,” Harry whispers.

“Harry, you shouldn’t think about that,” Niall says. He feels useless as he watches the heavy drop of Harry’s shoulders. It isn’t fair that Harry feels this way, and it doesn’t feel _right_ , not at all.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Later that night, crowded onto Harry’s bedroom sofa and eating macaroni and cheese, Niall sends Louis a text.

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 6.25pm: _If you break Harry’s heart I’m going to knock your teeth in. Stop being a dick ! Talk to him!_

The _ding_ of the message sent is echoed five minutes after by a new message.

> From: Zayn <3 — 6.31pm: _Went downstairs to get a drink, came back up to find Louis crying in his room bc of a txt you sent him ? :/ x_

Niall deserves a slap. Of _course_ Louis and Zayn are together. Louis is babysitting and he can’t handle all his sisters at once, and Harry is here. _Stupid stupid stupid._

At first he types out something calm, gentle. Then he looks to Harry’s weak hand barely lifting the fork all the way to his mouth, how he’s stirring his favourite meal around instead of eating, how his jaw barely moves as he practically grinds his food. The text he sends is fueled by an incredible amount of frustration and injustice that Harry’s too lovesick to feel himself. Maybe Niall’s out of line, but then so’s Louis, so he decides to go ahead with the message he types next.

> To: Zayn <3 — 6.32pm: _Tbh he should be cryin! You know how he and Harry are having trouble ? It’s becos Harry asked him to get tested for STIs! Ridiculous ! Harrys been upset for ages!_

He immediately gets a new text.

> From: Tommo the Tease xox — 6.34pm: _Sorry Niall but this is between me and Harry. Confidential. x_

> From: Zayn <3 — 6.35pm: _Hey! I love you but Louis is my best friend ! Give him and Harry some space yea? x_

“Who are you texting?” Harry mumbles, scooping up the last of his pasta. It must be cold, now.

“Louis and Zayn,” Niall answers.

Harry’s ears prick, face going both hopeful and apprehensive. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Louis’ crying.”

“Why?” Harry asks, curious.

“I sent him a text,” Niall admits. He reads it aloud, flinching as he realises that Harry probably didn’t want him to get involved, nor be mean to Louis.

“Oh,” Harry mumbles. “Then what?”

Actually, he’s not as upset about the interference as Niall thought he would be. Probably exhausted from all this. “Zayn said he started crying. Louis said to butt out. Zayn said that Louis’ his best friend.”

Harry cuddles tighter into his mass of duvet and cushions, mutes the telly, and narrows his attention in on Niall. “What are you going to say back?”

“Something like, ‘Tell your best friend to stop being immature,’” Niall shrugs, tone questioning.

“Or at least let me know what I’ve done,” Harry adds.

> To: Zayn <3 — 6.37pm: _Sorry but Harry is MY best friend and really upset rn, so tell YOUR best friend to pick his balls up off the floor and sit down for a decent conversation instead of being so immature??_

Sneakily, Niall sends another off to Louis;

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 6.39pm: _I know he wants you to get tested. He doesn’t think you’re a slag , he just wants to be safe. Is that too much to ask now ? :/_

> From: Zayn <3 — 6.41pm: _Please stop texting us. I’ll talk to oyu tomorrow. Love you :) x_

> From: Zayn <3 — 6.41pm: _*you_

As though the phone had personally betrayed him, Niall glares at the screen, pissed off past reason.

> To: Tommo the Tease xox — 6.42pm: _If you’re going to finish with him just DO IT. Id rather see my best friend going thru a break up than the mess you’re making now._

“What’s happening?” Harry asks.

“I don’t know,” Niall sighs. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry shrugs, though it’s clearly not.

> From: Zayn <3 — 6.42pm: _NIALL! Stop being so fuckin rude! Honestly you’re acting like a 5 y/o!_

With a tight snap in his heart, Niall turns his phone off.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Squirreled away in the library, Niall and Harry have yet to discuss their obvious escape from any possible drama. Between them, they’ve received seven texts from Liam, and none from Zayn and Louis, which settles somewhere uncomfortable in Niall’s throat, and slips down into his stomach like a rock.

“I’m fucked for the Trig test,” Harry grumbles, eyeing his work. He hasn’t quite gotten around to writing anything since he opened the book, but Niall’s not here to judge. “Why can’t every triangle be right-angled? Why can’t I work in a bakery forever?”

“Why can’t eating without gaining weight be a sport?” Niall adds, equally over it. “I’d be in Sports Illustrated, naked ’cept for maybe my briefs, like this.” He opens his mouth wide and bends one arm, hand arrowed to a far corner of the ceiling, and the other holding an imaginary burger.

“I’d watch that sport,” Harry agrees.

Niall doesn’t know why Zayn’s not talking to him. Then again, he doesn’t know why he’s not talking to Zayn. It’s just… Harry comes first—mates before dates—and seeing him upset makes Niall so _angry_. And Zayn _defended_ Louis, who’s clearly in the wrong, so what the fuck is Zayn’s _problem_?

And Niall also doesn’t know where Liam stands.

> To: Liam — 12.20pm: _Can I still get a lift? Or nah?_

If Liam is neutral, maybe he can give Harry a lift, too.

> From: Liam — 12.22pm: _finallyyy Jesus nobody’s talkin just SILENCE wher r u 2 ??_

> From: Liam — 12.22pm: _ofc your getting a lift!_

> To: Liam — 12.23pm: _If I tell you where we are, you can’t tell Louis or Zayn._

Niall tilts his screen to Harry, lets him read the texts.

“At least he’s not cross,” Harry says.

> From: Liam — 12.24pm: _They both want to talk to u guys :/// can I come and talk to you and than they can come? So we can stop being weiird?_

“No biscuit,” Harry says firmly.

> To: Liam — 12.25pm: _Sorry, no. Dw, this will get sorted!_

“I feel bad if he’s caught in the middle,” Harry admits sadly. “We’re all his friends, you know.”

“I get that,” Niall agrees. “Do you want to talk to Louis right now?”

Harry looks considerate, but ultimately frowns and sighs. “No, thank you. I don’t want to be crying in school for the rest of the day if he finishes with me.”

Hundreds of fake excuses and reassurances sit between Niall’s teeth, but he’s always prided himself on his honesty, so he swallows them down. Whatever Louis’ decision, Niall has to be here for Harry. Not for Zayn. Harry.

“Fair enough,” Niall says. He reads, “‘ _Louis wants to meet Hazza after school and talk_.’ You good for that?”

Harry pinches his bottom lip, rubs it till the skin is redder, makes a thoughtful sound.

“I suppose I could,” he finally says slowly, carefully. “But we have to talk at mine, not in the car.”

“Roger that,” Niall nods, typing to Liam.

Even though he knows it’s not much, Niall feels a gentle relief melt through him when Harry nuzzles in close and says, “Thanks, Niall.”

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Liam is waiting by his car, tartan shirt tied around his hips, jeans riding lower than when Niall met him. Sophia probably has a hand in that, since they shop together, now. A nice little matching couple.

Unfortunately, Niall is missing his daily dose of kisses and cuddles, so the first thing out of his mouth is, “Where’s Zayn?”

Biting back a smile (though his eyes turn into happy squints) Liam says, “He got a lift from Danny. It’s just me.”

“Okay.” Niall lets himself into the passenger side, plucking his iPod from his pocket and plugging it in. Surely Liam has a little speech prepared, something about their friendship, something big and hopeful because they’re all best friends, right?

“If I tell you something,” Liam sighs after while, turning the music down, “you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Except for Zayn and Harry?” Niall guesses, but Liam shakes his head.

“Harry will find out when Louis is at his house, and Zayn already knows,” he replies. “Someone will tell you eventually, but till then, you have to keep quiet. I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

There’s a pitch of stress to Liam’s voice, though it’s softened with what Niall knows is trust. He prepares himself for news of the break-up, and says, “Okay, cross my heart.”

Liam inhales deeply, turns a corner. “Louis tested positive for Chlamydia. That’s why he’s so freaked out.”

“Chlamydia?” Niall is stunned. Of all things… “He doesn’t think Harry will leave him, does he?” he asks before he can think about it.

“Well… I would probably be pissed off if Sophia gave me an STI,” Liam shrugs unsteadily.

“Shit, didn’t think of that. Harry hasn’t been tested since he got with Louis.” Niall turns to Liam. “They’ve not been using condoms, since it’s just blow jobs, but you can get Chlamydia through oral, right?”

“Yeah. Zayn Googled it. You can get it through oral, anal, or vaginal sex,” Liam states. A light tint is starting to colour his cheeks, but Niall leaves it be.

“Shit,” he says again.

 _Chlamydia_. Niall remembers last year, when a girl in his English class got pregnant and said she heard it on the radio and thought it sounded beautiful, perfect for her girl. Thankfully, some kids talked her out of it.

Niall feels paranoid all of a sudden, staring at his crotch and trying not to image little nasties crawling around in it.

“Having a condom on when you’re getting sucked off doesn’t sound like fun,” he frowns. “Do you use one?”

“No, but I’ve only been with Danielle, and we were each other’s first, and Sophia got tested a week before we started dating,” Liam answers. “Don’t tell anyone,” he’s quick to add.

Niall shakes his head. “I won’t. I hadn’t actually thought about STIs. Should I get checked?” Another ping of distress flicks his lungs. “How do I explain that to my dad? God, what if I’ve got something?”

“You won’t. Zayn’s clean,” Liam assures him. “You’ve met Trisha. She’s lovely, and she’s fine with Zayn getting, erm, intimate with people. I was supermarket shopping with them once. Zayn just dropped a box of condoms in, and Trisha didn’t bat an eye, bless her.” Liam pulls his car into a slot outside Niall’s house. “Her one condition is that he’s safe, and gets checked every few weeks if he’s been on the pull.”

“He’s so lucky,” Niall sighs wistfully. If his mum saw a condom within five metres of Niall, she’d probably throw a fit, and send him to Camp Abstinence. Fingers hooking under a strap of his schoolbag, Niall slumps against his seat, a soft groan as he thinks aloud; “I’m gonna have to apologise to Louis, aren’t I?”

Liam lifts his snapback and scratches his head. “Maybe let him know that you’re cool with him. Really, you were just protecting Harry. I think Louis will appreciate that.”

“Hope so,” Niall says. “Alright. Thanks for the lift. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Liam grins, blushing. He’s adorable.

> To: Zayn <3 — 3.35pm: _Hey we should meet up tonight. Skate park?_

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

> From: Harry! — 6.05pm: _Lou just left. Can I call you?_

> To: Harry! — 6.05pm: _Yea!_

Niall gives no illusion of cool; he answers before half a ring goes by. Harry says, “Hello?” like he’s a little startled by the speed.

“Hey,” Niall replies.

“Oh, hi,” Harry says. The phone rustles like he’s breathed into it. “Erm, Lou had to leave at six. We talked.”

Is Harry about to tell him? Niall hopes so. “Yeah? What’d he say? I have to meet Zayn at the park for seven-thirty, but I could come to yours now?”

“I’m a bit of a mess, but I’d like that,” Harry agrees.

Niall knocks on Harry’s door a little after quarter past, letting himself in a second later.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Harry is bent over a roast chicken, spooning juices over it. He puts the tray back in the over and pulls off the oven mitt, eyes shiny and a bit pink. The smile he plasters on as he wipes imaginary sweat from his forehead is worn at best, tinged sad because it doesn’t open wide enough.

“Gemma’s home for tea, and she’s bringing Eleanor,” he says. “Are you staying?”

“If you want, yeah,” Niall answers.

“You’re welcome to.” Harry gestures to the oven. “You can taste the fruit of my labours.”

“I’m not tasting any fruit of yours, harlot,” Niall snorts. Harry’s smile fractures slightly at the corners. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright.” Harry keeps smiling, apologetic now. “I, erm, Louis… Well. He got tested.”

Niall cocks his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes softly. “He has Chlamydia. Go figure.”

Blowing out a big exhale, Niall raises his eyebrows. He’s worried for Harry, but he has to keep his cool, just for now. “Shit,” he says. “What happened?”

“I could have it, is what’s happened,” Harry says bitterly. “An STI, Niall. I could have an _STI_. All those tests I got when I was slagging around, and the boyfriend I’ve had for the longest, _he_ gives me Chamydia.”

“You don’t _know_ you have it,” Niall argues weakly. He didn’t think Harry would be angry. He thought Harry would be melting with pure, unbridled relief that Louis wasn’t splitting up with him.

“I may as well,” Harry frowns. “He got cross with me for asking him to go to the clinic, and it was because of _his_ selfishness that I—” He finishes with a small huff. “I love him, but he’s a bleeding fucking idiot.”

“So you’re still together,” Niall clarifies quickly.

“Yeah,” Harry grumbles after a second or two. “He cried and said it was okay if I didn’t want to be with him anymore, but he’s not getting away that easily. Even though he’s stupid.”

“He _is_ stupid,” Niall agrees.

“Thanks,” Harry grins. “It could have been worse. I really thought we were done.”

“You’ll have to get tested again,” Niall points out.

“Yeah. And till Lou’s antibiotics are done, no blow jobs, and no rimming,” Harry says sadly.

“Aw,” Niall pouts.

“Hey, you know, he did it to me the other night,” Harry says before Niall can stop him. “It’s quite alright, actually. Warm and gentle.”

“It’s your _arse_ ,” Niall cringes. “Isn’t that dirty?”

Harry looks thoughtful. About rimming. Good god. “It’s not something I would do spontaneously, but he said he wanted to, and I used a douche in the shower. Just to get everything clean.” His grin tips into something sexier. “The build-up is so slow but I was squirming the whole time – when I came, it was _intense_ , and amazing.”

“Jesus.” Niall swallows. “So that’s, what, licking and kissing?”

“More or less,” Harry replies. “I fingered Louis, but he didn’t finger me. I think I’m going to ask him to do it next time, whenever that is.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, distracted. He may need to put his lube to other uses sometime soon. Douches can be bought online, probably, and he doesn’t have to do it again if he doesn’t like it.

Before he can ask more questions, Gemma and Eleanor come through the front door, Eleanor giggling and Gemma smirking, faces gleeful with alcohol.

When Gemma sees Niall, her face lights up. “Hey, you remember Zayn, that _beautiful_ boy from a couple of years down?”

“With the tats?” Eleanor asks.

“Yeah, him.” Gemma gestures to Niall. “Meet his boyfriend.”

Eleanor gasps. “No way! You’re all cute and stuff. Didn’t think he would settle for less than a rock ’n roll, electric-guitar type. Go you, Niall.”

“He’s meeting him later, so let’s eat now,” Harry grins, fishing the chicken out.

Niall can’t stop thinking about frigging.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Zayn is rocking lazily along the insides of the bowl, no tricks. He’s got just enough momentum for his bike to slide up the walls and down again, torso bent forward and fingers curled around the handles. Niall watches him for a little while even though he’s so eager to talk to Zayn, to see his face up close, to kiss him. It’s only been a couple of days but the withdrawal is a big punch to the gut that Niall didn’t expect.

“Oh, hey,” Zayn calls. He rides higher, pushes off hard so he swoops up a metre away from Niall, turning sharply and braking. “I got here early.”

“Were you waiting a long time?” Niall squashes down a grin. Zayn is still straddling his bike, arms crossed and resting on the handlebars, a complete soul-crushing _bastard_ even with the wary look about him.

Shaking off his hesitation, Niall steps in and leans down. He cups Zayn’s jaw, kisses him softly because he doesn’t want Zayn to be cross with him, wants them to be _okay_. Zayn’s lips are warm from the licking and chewing he does, while Niall’s are cold from the wind and the walk.

Zayn kisses back but he’s obviously upset, probably giving more away than he’d like. It scares Niall sometimes, how easily he can read Zayn, and at the same time he’s honoured that Zayn lets him in.

He pulls away with a little peck, landing gently on his knees so he’s just slightly shorter, like the first time all over again.

Niall says, “Alright?” in a quiet voice.

Despite his tired slump, Zayn smiles a little. “Does that like, mean we’re not fighting anymore?” he asks.

“We weren’t fighting, not really,” Niall says, because they _weren’t_. “Our friends needed us, probably still do.”

Zayn sighs, pushing his fingers through Niall’s fringe. “God, how dramatic are we?”

“I wanted to kiss you the whole time,” Niall admits. “I kept thinking, ‘I’ll see Zayn next,’ but then I thought we weren’t talking, so I didn’t.”

Zayn nods, dropping his chin to his arm. “Louis and Harry are going through some stuff.”

“I know,” Niall nods. “I was just at Harry’s. He’s stressing the fuck out. The craic’s no good. I don’t know what to tell him.”

Drawn in by the reignited _need_ to touch, Niall curls his hand around Zayn’s knee, the other on his wrist. It’s a grounding link between them, sturdy and firm. Zayn’s eyes brighten.

“Let’s not talk about them just yet,” he smiles, standing and laying his bike on the grass. “I want to catch up on some of the kisses I’ve apparently been missing.”

“Yeah? Here?” Niall’s already moving to where Zayn is sitting, but he’s still cautious to the idea that someone could show up.

“Nobody’ll see,” Zayn assures him. “Are you cold?”

Niall shakes his head. “I’m five layers up on you. Super cosy.”

“Good.” Zayn pats his lap. Niall sits.

They’re roughly the same height, so Niall has to duck his head to line up with Zayn’s lips. He sways a little on his knees, wriggles to get comfortable, and is stilled by the hands that find their place on his hips.

“Careful,” Zayn warns.

Toeing the edge of excitement, Niall tilts his hips into Zayn’s, grin leaving no room for innocence.

“Are you trying to make me pop a stiffy in the park?” Zayn whispers, faking a scornful down-and-up glare. “You’re _filthy_.”

“You _love_ it,” Niall brags.

“Where’s that boy who got flustered from kissing? Where did he go? Like, I seem to recall the brightest shade of red when I touched him like this,” Zayn squeezes Niall’s bum, “and he’d _never_ let me snog him in public.”

“You must’ve corrupted him,” Niall grins, grinding his arse down.

“Me? No, I’d never,” Zayn murmurs.

But his hips are moving in little rolls, kisses giving way to breathy grunts and groans, smelling like the pine and lavender of his cologne. Mere minutes in, Niall decides that he can rub himself off against Zayn’s abs the rest of the way. They both need this.

When he was younger, Niall thought that the grand total of having it off with somebody was an orgasm – like coming was the end goal. He’d wonder why people would go through the trouble of going on the pull when they could wank at home. When Zayn holds him tight around the waist, rolls them over, and sighs with relief as he fits between Niall’s thighs, Niall knows that this is different. He’s nervous as fuck that someone’s gonna see them, and with the way they’re moving, it probably looks like they’re fucking.

Niall wouldn’t stop Zayn for anything, though; not when he’s groaning softly into Niall’s hair, and working grass stains into Niall’s back. Mostly they’re panting and gasping too much to bother making their mouths meet, but every kiss they manage is electric and hot in every inch of Niall’s body. It only occurs to him when the rubs of his cockhead become slippery and wet that he’s about to have an orgasm at the park they visit every Friday, just a hundred metres from the playground he went to when he was small.

“Shit,” Zayn whimpers, rutting in long, slow thrusts. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, Zayn, c’mon,” Niall whispers.

Zayn’s muscles go tense under Niall’s fingers, teeth digging into his bottom lip and pushing his hips in tight. He’s beautiful, and Niall’s missed this, too.

“Fuckin’,” Zayn sighs, barely rocking his hips anymore. “M’trousers.”

His voice is rough. Niall pops the button of his fly, and Zayn beats him to his cock. His fist is tight and really bloody good, finishing Niall off with absolutely no effort at all, really. Niall comes in his pants, jizz sliding down his hip till his presses a hand to his side and holds it there, soaking the fabric. Pulling his hand out, Zayn rolls to his side, a wicked shine in his gaze.

“We just humped in the park,” he observes, turning his head to Niall and raising an accusing—albeit lazy—finger. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

Niall cackles, and Zayn continues with wide, teasing eyes.

“I’d never gotten off in an area of the public, like, what are you reducing me to? We could’ve been seen! Arrested, even!”

“Yeah, that stain on your trousers is public indecency,” Niall smirks.

“Is there a mark?” Zayn curls in for a look, and grimaces at the wet dot. “Like, only a little bit.”

Niall starts to laugh, so hard it vibrates in his chest and makes his stomach ache. Zayn muffles his in Niall’s tee shirt, the two of them listening as their noise ruins the silence of the night.

“God,” Niall chokes out as they start to calm down. “We can make _so_ many jokes when we’re here with the boys, and they won’t know.”

“Louis’ll kill me if he finds out that I like, _came_ here,” Zayn grins.

“Ha, I can see that happening,” Niall agrees.

Somewhere in the following quiet, Zayn’s smile loses its cheeriness. He rests his head on Niall’s chest like he’s listening for the rapidly cooling rhythm of his heart.

“I told Louis I’d do some snooping, so like, Harry’s pissed off, isn’t he?” he asks.

“A bit, yeah,” Niall admits. “He’ll be fine.”

Zayn shrugs the shoulder he’s not lying on, says, “Wouldn’t blame him if he was cross a bit longer, like. If he has it.”

“If he has it, he takes the antibiotics,” Niall says firmly.

“S’pose,” Zayn says. “I’m clean, like, just so you know. I’ve got no nasty surprises.”

Niall snickers, unable to resist the invitation for a tease. “Except for your raging exhibitionism, but that’s not so bad.”

“Should think not,” Zayn grumbles, slipping his hand between Niall’s thighs, where he’s rubbed raw and tender.

They lie there, saying a little bit here and there but not much at all, until the blue tint to the sky has vanished and left the stars glittering against an inky black. Zayn helps Niall up, walks Niall all the way home with his bike wheeled alongside them.

“I love you,” Zayn says at the door. “Sorry for being a dick, like – I was out of line.”

“Yeah, but so was I,” Niall shrugs. “I love you, too. Text me when you get home.”

“Of course,” Zayn nods, smoothing back Niall’s hair. “G’night, love.”

“Night, Zayn,” Niall grins. He kisses Zayn longer than their usual goodbye peck, just to cash in on lost time, and inside, he promptly collapses on his bed.

The tilt in Niall’s world seems to have settled, and he’s exhausted.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

> From: Zayn <3 — 9.38pm: _Got home safe ! Love you :) x_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave Louis that gift during the Zouis video scandal, bc I was really mad at him for using the N word. So yeah. He got a fictional slap for the racist slur (not for the weed - IDC about the weed). I kept it bc no apology was ever offered for that, nor to the cops who _were protecting them like ffs Louis have some respect_.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [In Louis' own words...](http://31.media.tumblr.com/e7ac0ca2fee804d91c9df17b49a6e7bc/tumblr_mk6t59Ja0x1r0apqfo6_r1_250.gif)
> 
> * * *
> 
> [And I'm on tumblr!](http://wantdeniallinme.tumblr.com/)


	13. Gay Sex Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betas ([freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/), [nekedniall](http://nekedniall.tumblr.com/), and [ghstys](http://ghstys.tumblr.com/)) are baaabes!

First of all, self-checkouts are ace. Brilliant. Amazing.

Niall feels blessed to be alive in a time where he can buy a bottle of _Femwash_ without someone glancing curiously at his purchase, even more so when he can accompany it with waterproof lube. Originally, he’d thought he would ask Harry about the how-to basics, but that seemed cruel since the poor lad was currently awaiting test results and couldn’t get more than a hand job in the meantime. He’d probably not appreciate knowing that Niall was exploring something that could add a whole other level of intimacy to what he and Zayn already have free access to.

“Have you had a shower?” he asks Greg, pausing in his doorway.

“Yeah, when I got back from work,” Greg answers. “Why?”

“I’m going to have a bath,” Niall says, praying the anticipation doesn’t colour his cheeks and give away his plans.

Greg says dryly, “A bath.”

“Yeah,” Niall shrugs.

Greg crosses his arms, leans against the wall, looking like the cliché dickhead big brother, and Niall loves him, but right now he’s putting time between Niall and an orgasm. Not cool.

Plus, there’s a line between things he does and doesn’t want Greg to know about his sex life, and that line is drawn very early on.

“Should I turn my music up for this ‘bath’?” and he does stupid quotemarks around the word.

“Yes,” Niall replies.

Greg’s eyebrows hitch, casual and nonchalant, so Niall’s guard lowers. Under the towel bunched over his arm and hand, he’s holding the wash and the lube, and his fingers are sweating. Greg nods and turns back to his drawers.

With his plan in motion again, Niall starts the shower and locks the bathroom door, and though he’s not hard yet, his blood feels airy-light with that curious kind of charge. He hopes he can make it good, or he’s been winding himself up for nothing, and that’s not fun.

And if he likes this, Zayn could try. Jesus, _that’s_ a thought. He’s probably really good at it, Niall thinks happily, unwrapping himself from his coat and trousers while steam climbs up the shower door. Zayn’s fingers. Inside him. Doing _things_.

Niall rests his forearms against the glass, warming up his back and bum. He can’t be too tense, or it’ll be hard to squeeze anything inside. That’s what all the websites say – loosen up, take your time, make sure your hands are clean, one before two. For someone who’s never really poked around there before, Niall quickly gets comfortable with the smooth feel of his rim, how the skin is soft when he’d expected it not to be, how it makes him want a little more. He strokes the soap over his skin, firmer each time.

Initially, the push is discouraging. The muscle doesn’t seem to want to give into something trying to go the wrong way – to go _in_. Niall presses harder, and suddenly his fingertip has popped past that stubborn ring, then nearly sucked in as he reflexively clenches down. It’s familiar and strange and new and comfortable all at the same time, and even the _burn_ is good in the same way as Zayn’s nails down his back make him feel.

Niall takes his finger out, filling the bath up to his chest, which Niall finds is a safe level in case he has to move. The last thing he needs is Greg breaking down the door because Niall’s managed to slosh water onto the floor in the midst of an intense wank. He should do this on a bed next time.

Ha. He’s already thinking about _next time_ when there hasn’t even been a _this time_.

Gathering the concentration he’d let stray while he relaxed, Niall tucks one hand between his legs, thighs open, leant against either side of the bath. It leaves him with the right angle to reach down past his balls, to where his curiosity is making his heart jump on every beat. Running his knuckles heavily back and forth on his cock, he strokes the soft edges of his hole. Niall is sure that he could just breach in without all the fanfare, but he doesn’t want to rush – doesn’t want to go tumbling towards the end goal when he has the opportunity to take it slowly, easily, gently.

When the tip of his dick is poking just above the shallow waterline—the length resting on the crinkles on his tummy, and once again bringing up the question of how flexible one would have to be to suck themselves off—Niall prods past and in. He’s still hot inside, still tight, snug around his middle finger. Then he remembers the lube, tugging out a bit too quickly in his haste. Oops.

He returns with a conscious effort to be more careful, slick making it obviously easier. _Duh_ , he thinks, smirking even though there’s nobody around to witness his mistake.

He doesn’t thrust his finger or twist his wrist – he keeps his other hand moving, because if nothing comes from the fingering, the least he can offer himself is the promise of an orgasm. Distraction looms in the form of a search for a spot that people online talk about. His _prostate_. The _thing_ that makes having a dick up there feel so good. He just has to find it, is all.

So Niall scrunches his finger, curls it, loosens up his hold with all the wriggling and random clenching and unclenching.

Then— _there_ , maybe. It’s the warm, electric tingle he gets from touching his dick, but harder, like an invitation for him to keep going, rub higher, deeper, _more_. Straightening his finger and pushing up has his foot jerking out of the water for how sharply the feeling comes, catching him off-guard. His hand hesitates on his cock, just so he can focus on how intense every slow stroke and tentative touch is.

Between his fingers and his hands, Niall finds the pace he wants— _needs_ —and starts making something that resembles a rhythm. His hips are squirming, indecisive, and his head lolls back till he’s staring at the ceiling, wondering if he looks good like this, of all things. If Zayn would want to do this for him. If Zayn would get off on it. If Zayn misses sex.

One finger feels like a big fucking deal right now, but if Niall keeps this up, he could try two, or three, and maybe Zayn could fuck him. He’s so overwhelmed with thoughts of Zayn getting worked up and sweaty and needy that he accidentally moans, loud enough that it booms against the bathroom walls and he has to stop.

Niall reduces his noise to gasps and panting after that, fisting himself over and leaving his finger wedged inside himself, an unmoving weight as he works through the last of it before he comes. His jizz lands mostly on himself, but it slides into the bathwater and Niall couldn’t give any less of a shit by now.

He’s a little bit stunned.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

That night, Niall takes a break from his own dick to eat and check the football score. As he racks through the fridge for yesterday’s spaghetti, he catches his dad’s voice, strained and monotonous.

“They made a choice, and this is what’s good for them now. I give them freedom.” He sighs. “Don’t get sarky with me. We’re not married anymore. I don’t have to take shite from you. Good night, Maura.”

Bob turns the corner to see Niall holding a juice carton while he waits beside the microwave, fatigue-heavy eyes widening for a second.

“Did y’hear that?” he grumbles. “That fucking mother of yours. Hoity-toity, toad-mouthed woman.”

Considering his dad’s usually docile nature, the words hit a bit harder than if it’d come from anyone else.

“What’s the craic?” Niall asks, going for a joking tone that slides down his face.

Bob stares at the toaster for a second too long, and then he smiles, nearly a grimace since it’s too firm.

“Don’t worry,” he replies. “No skin off my nose.”

Niall trusts his dad, so he tries not to think about it.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Harry comes to Niall’s house on Sunday, and Niall wonders if it’s noticeable that for two days he’s been fucking himself silly on his fingers. It’d gotten uncomfortable the past couple of times, so he thinks he’ll have to give himself more than just a snack break.

“How’s Louis?” he asks, because Harry hasn’t mentioned Louis in the whole two hours he’s been there. And that’s… weird.

With exhaustion and annoyance forming a crease between his brows, Harry mumbles, “To be honest, I don’t know. I think he gets that I need space, at the moment, but also I think he might be a bit scared that, like, I’m going to finish with him.”

Niall nods, recalling little hints and stuff that Zayn’s slipped into conversation – never giving too much away, always keeping secrets half-hidden.

“I mean,” Niall shrugs, voice soft because Harry needs him to not be pushy. “Would you?”

Quiet dips into the end of his question and settles there, while Harry stares at the blank white of Niall’s ceiling. He’s lying on Niall’s bed, and Niall is swiveling slowly on his desk chair, trying to remember if he put his lube back in the drawer, or if Harry’s going to find it digging uncomfortably into his back.

Harry’s stomach deflates quickly as he sighs, playing with the curls around his forehead. “I don’t know, Niall,” he admits.

“That’s okay, though,” Niall says. He doesn’t point out that Harry sounds scared, too.

“Is it?” Harry turns to Niall, hand stilling in his hair, gaze sad but hard. “It’s not his fault. He didn’t do this on purpose. I shouldn’t have just _assumed_ that he was clean, or that because we’re together, any possible STIs would just _magically_ go away.” He huffs and looks up again. “But I love him. And I don’t know what to do.”

Maybe a conversation about fingering is best kept for another day, Niall starts to think as he crosses his room. He stands by the bed, hands in his pockets, and Harry closes his eyes, not before Niall catches the reflective shine that doesn’t stand a chance of being hidden when Harry’s nose is pink and his nostrils are flaring a little bit.

“If you stand up, we can get under the duvet and cuddle,” Niall smiles.

They used to do that all the time. Fall asleep on each other, sprawled but still touching. The only rule—one that Harry begrudgingly accepted—is that they would only do it if Harry wasn’t naked.

Harry nods, rocks up and pushes himself to his feet like he’s weighted by anchors clinging to his fingertips. Niall flips his covers to the edge of the bed, lets Harry lie down first.

Slothed out along Harry’s side, Niall tucks them both in. He’s quite pleased with how warm Harry is, and barely manages a little scoff when Harry says, “I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you.”

“Nah, you’re alright,” Niall assures him. He stops himself before he slips a hand under Harry’s shirt to hold his bare hip, remembering that this isn’t like cuddling with Zayn. He’s supposed to see Zayn, today, or something. Niall reaches over to his bedside table and sends a text.

> To: Zayn <3 — 10.13am: _Maybe don’t come over tday. I am with Harry, he is a bit upset, so I’m doing a bit of tlc. Love you ! x_

“Might fall asleep,” Harry yawns. He sounds halfway there already.

“Sleep,” Niall agrees, rubbing Harry’s tummy.

“Okay,” Harry mumbles.

Harry starts to snore before Niall’s passed out, but Niall can overlook a bit of snoring – if he can sleep through Greg’s music, he can sleep through anything.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall wakes up because his front door opens, and, like, his brother’s due home at 5pm, or something? Is it 5pm? Niall hopes not. He’s supposed to have cleaned the kitchen before his dad gets home, and that’s at 6pm. Still an hour, he thinks sleepily.

In the bleary state of maybe/sort of/possibly considering crawling out of bed, Niall turns his head at the sound of his door opening. Harry is still asleep, but there stands Zayn, looking a little bit confused but pretty bloody gorgeous all the same.

“Oh, sorry,” he whispers. He starts to close the door, and when Niall moves to stand, Harry opens his eyes.

He squints at Niall, then Zayn, and connects the two dots very quickly considering he still seems mostly unconscious.

“Sorry,” he echoes, sitting up. “I’ll, erm, get going.”

“No, you can stay,” Niall insists softly. “I’ll be right back.”

Easily persuadable—as most are within seconds of waking up—Harry flops back onto the bed, rolling over and curling up. Niall readjusts the duvet, aware of how knackered Harry must be; he’s not usually one for long naps.

“I can go, like,” Zayn offers, leaning against the wall.

Niall shuts the door behind him, leaning in to kiss Zayn hello.

“Didn’t you get my text?” he asks.

Shaking his head, Zayn pulls out his phone, gesturing to the blank screen. “Out of power, and Liam didn’t have the right charger. I thought we were doing som’ng, or was that tomorrow?” He looks pouty and still quite confused, bless him.

“No, it was today,” Niall says. “Harry’s going through a bit, though.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods. “Got it.”

Niall slips his arms around Zayn’s waist, noses into the collar of his shirt because it smells like leather, and Zayn’s cold fingertips rest on the back of Niall’s neck.

“Alright?” he murmurs.

Niall shrugs. “Still tired. A bit stressed,” he admits.

The sound of Zayn’s voice is soothing Niall’s tight stomach, and his lip piercing brushing against Niall’s temple only serves to make Niall think about how he’d spent his Friday and Saturday. “Yeah? Because of Harry and Louis?”

 _Harry and Louis_ , he says, separately, not _HarryandLouis_ , not all in one. Niall nods and pulls away. “Is that a new earring?” he asks, eyeing the skull-and-crossbones stud. It’s about the size of his pinky nail, black and white, with a red bandana like the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ picture.

“Mm,” Zayn hums. “Like it?”

“Looks cool,” Niall says. He yawns, dropping his head to Zayn’s shoulder.

“Maybe we should do this tomorrow, like, you’re obviously not fully awake,” Zayn smiles sympathetically.

“Sure you don’t want a cuddle?” Niall teases. His mind casts back to _HarryandLouis_ , wrapped around Niall after the first kiss, when he was moping and sad. Maybe he can pay Harry back for his kind words and everlasting patience. Maybe he can show Harry that he’s not a burden.

Zayn grins, eyes falling shyly to the floor. His eyelashes are still wet from the rain, and his skin is glowing from it, dotted with speckles of water. Niall wants to stare at him forever. He can’t imagine a better life than one where he gets to watch Zayn make the full spectrum of facial expressions.

“Like, if that’s a genuine offer, I will,” Zayn says.

“It’s a genuine offer,” Niall tells him.

“Sick,” Zayn whispers, going in for another kiss. This one pushes Harry out of Niall’s head for just a second, and then Zayn’s lips are gone and they’re walking back into Niall’s room.

Harry’s on his back again, making little huffy sounds when he exhales. Niall climbs over him, smushing his face into Harry’s chest, and Zayn curls up behind Niall.

“Love you,” Zayn whispers.

“I love you, too,” Niall replies, equally quiet.

And it occurs to him that somewhere, Louis is probably thinking about Harry, feeling shitty and stupid.

And Niall feels bad all of a sudden.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Harry gets up and sits at the desk chair with a small, sleepy smile.

“Don’t,” he says when Niall looks over at Zayn. The shadows of his eyelashes are creeping down his cheekbones like tiger stripes, and his mouth is open. “You know he hates being woken up.”

Memories of shaking Zayn awake serve as proof, so Niall leaves him be.

“Louis says that you sing for him,” Harry says, and Niall doesn’t point out that Harry’s voice caught on the name. “That’s really cute.”

“Not like I grab my guitar and write songs for him,” Niall lies.

“ _Grab me gi-tahr_ ,” Harry mimics, grinning cheekily.

“We can’t all be posh swots, you know. Go ’nd practise your I-N-G sounds or som’ng,” Niall mumbles.

Harry snickers, picking up one of Zayn’s comics from the stack of paper and school books, making the whole thing wobble. He makes a surprised _phew, lucky_ face, silently laughing while Niall pulls the drawstrings on his own hoodie, effectively sealing off Harry’s clumsiness.

“See no evil,” he says into the fabric.

“Erm, I think the artist for this one is a man,” Harry says, splashing cold water over the sleepy fog Niall had started to drift into. Niall peeks out of his hoodie to see Harry pointing to a big-busted woman in a business suit. “Her knees are tiny.”

“Zayn says that that’s why his sisters don’t read comics,” Niall replies, “’cause they’re, like, sexist.”

“Yeah, did you ever see Starfire off _Teen Titans_ in the comics? God forbid a female superhero’s costume protects her vital organs,” Harry tuts. “Louis doesn’t like that. He won’t let his sisters read any of the comics that have badly written women in them.”

“Mm,” Niall hums. “When are you due home?”

“Oh, I’m going in just a sec,” Harry says.

“I’m not kicking you out,” Niall yawns.

“I know. Bus comes in six minutes, and I still need to get my shoes on, so I’ll leave now.” Harry leans over and pinches Zayn’s cheek.

Zayn makes a grumpy face in his sleep, shying away from the touch.

“He’s quite cute like that,” Harry grins.

“Oi,” Niall smirks, fingers nipping at Harry’s thighs. “I called dibs.”

“Yeah, well, I can still _look_ ,” Harry shrugs. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you, bro.” Head already heavy on his pillow, Niall shuts his eyes before the door’s even closed.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Monday rolls past with minimal awkwardness, because Louis doesn’t come to school. Niall wonders if it’s a combination of everything, or if Niall’s made him feel that he no longer fits comfortably into their group – _Louis’_ group, _his_ friends. That sits too hard in the gut for him to do anything less than stop off at his house after school, nervously ringing the doorbell.

He hears feet, a call of, “Trying to find m’keys! Give me a second!” and then the door’s open.

Louis doesn’t quite mask his surprise, though he tries to plaster some sort of unimpressed nonchalance over the top of it. As well as that, he’s wearing thin-framed, librarian-style glasses, a beanie, sweats, a red top, and a grey cardigan. _Small_ isn’t usually something that Niall would call Louis. Now, it’s all he can think.

“The door was unlocked, as it turns out,” Louis says.

“Hate when that happens,” Niall smiles, gaze falling from Louis’ face.

Louis scans Niall like an x-ray, hand not leaving the doorknob, indignant jut not softening from his chin. Just as Niall’s about to ask, Louis says, “I suppose you’ll be wanting in, then.”

“You suppose right,” Niall replies.

Spinning on his heel, Louis keeps his face set on _I Don’t Give A Shit_ mode. Niall knows that this is getting to him, though, and that Louis is concerned about Harry, about his relationship and friendships. He feels bad for being one of the reasons that Louis has to put up such a stone-wall front.

Maybe Louis only cries when Zayn’s there, or maybe he keeps the tense hollow to his cheeks because he can’t bear to let it down. It’s no miracle that Harry—who doesn’t hide, who’s always honest about his heart—can creep under that layer.

“Do you want a drink? No alcohol, I’m afraid.” Louis walks through his living room, into the kitchen. “We have tea, Coke, and orange juice.”

“Coke, thanks.” His next words are too impatient to wait for Louis to stop avoiding Niall’s face and pleading eyes. “I’m really fucking sorry, Louis.”

Surprisingly, Louis keeps going. The fridge opens and shuts, in earshot, and then Louis puts a can of Coke in front of Niall, sits on the large armchair, and sighs.

“I shouldn’t’ve said that shit to you. Wasn’t fair of me,” Niall goes on. He folds the tab of his Coke in, and takes a long drink.

“Yeah, well,” Louis shrugs. “I ballsed up. Royally. Totally fucked over someone I really care about.” He finally looks at Niall. “Anything you said to me or anyone else, I had coming.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Niall’s quick to clarify. “And you’ve got Chlamydia, bro – that’s not the end of the world. Take the antibiotics. Don’t suck Harry’s dick unless he’s got a Durex on it. You can find out which flavours you like. They sell them in chocolate, now.”

The way Louis’ eyes go soft but sad is a reminder of how young Niall is, and that Louis is older, and sometimes Niall forgets that.

“So much of our relationship is physical. What do we do when we can’t suck each other off without going, ‘Ah, that’s right, at least one of us has Chlamydia! Let’s wrap that willie up, first!’” Louis drops the mock-enthusiasm. “And Harry’s cross with me.”

“He loves you,” Niall insists.

Louis says, “But he’s still cross with me.”

Reassurances hang on Niall’s lips; he wants to please everyone. He wants to say, _No, Louis, Harry is just fine, you’ll be okay,_ and then he remembers Harry’s _I don’t know, Niall_ , and it gets very muddled.

“Rightfully so, mind you,” Louis continues.

“You’re both treating it like it’s fuckin’ cancer,” Niall tells him bluntly. “You know it can be fixed, right? Like I’ve been saying – antibiotics, and then everything’s back to normal.”

“It’s not just what’s _happened_ , Niall,” Louis says helplessly. “It’s— What if I had HIV? AIDs? What if it was something life-threatening? I was stupid – no two ways about it. I’m an idiot. End of.” He sweeps out his hands like a final line, a cut-off.

Niall takes another drink. The walls of Louis’ living room have a bookshelf, a _Jaws_ poster, a big telly, and a selection of school photos. He wants to poke fun at the one of Louis looking young but still undeniably sassy, head tilted and eyebrows raised.

“Cheeky chap from a young age, then?” he says when he figures the air is right, gesturing to the photo. Louis follows his finger and smirks.

“My teachers said I was a pleasure to have in class, I’ll have you know.”

“Which is their way of saying that you’re a right tit, but you’re sweet,” Niall points out.

Louis scoffs. “And what did you get, hm? _Should learn his T-H sounds_? _Please tell your son that the Irish National Anthem does not count for poetry week_? _His taste in beer is questionable_?”

“Oi,” Niall grins. “You’re welcome to bring your own booze to my house, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Maybe I will.” The threat sounds empty.

After finishing off his Coke, Niall crushes his can, and seeks out the rubbish bin. It’s under the sink, though it used to be in the corner.

> To: Zayn <3 — 4.05pm: _Can you pick me up? At Louis’._

As Niall re-enters the living room, Louis says, “I think the wait is what’s getting to Harry. I think, either way, he’ll just be relieved to _know_.”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. Harry likes to be in on things – whether they be pranks or secrets or plans. Niall had thought about that, but he didn’t want to voice such a thing when Harry was already under a metric shittonne of pressure.

“We’ll have to wait and see,” Louis sighs. “How are you getting home?”

“Zayn’s picking me up,” Niall says, though Zayn hasn’t replied.

“No, he’s not. Zayn works at the bookshop on Mondays.”

And Louis’ right, Niall realises. Oops.

“I’ll give you a lift,” Louis volunteers, jingling his keys in his pocket.

“Oh, thanks,” Niall says before he can think. He’s basically just bullied Louis out of commission, yet he has the nerve to accept a lift. Shame boils up on his face.

“Have to get some shopping, anyway,” Louis sighs.

He pinches his hair and smoothes it across his forehead, under the beanie, and swaps his sweats for black skinny jeans, rolled up to expose his Princess Diana ankles. Louis never wears socks under his Toms, so his feet always smell really bad, and Harry says that his newest tactic is to shower with Louis, or wrap him up in a blanket.

“Did you see Derby playing last month?” The fabric of the car seats is a cold shock to the minimal bare skin Niall’s showing, because Autumn is rolling up, and so are the icy clouds and stiff leaves and horizontal rain.

“Can’t say I did,” Louis replies. “How did they do?”

“They lost, but it was still good,” Niall says. “Have you seen the video of dogs reacting to cats taking their beds?”

“Yeah, actually. Zayn showed me when you sent it to him.” Louis flattens his palm on the steering wheel, turning the car left.

“The dogs are like—” Niall makes a big _huh_ sound, putting on a distraught face with big, confused eyes. “—and the cats are so fuckin’ smug.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, till they’re rolling gently behind a bus that they can’t pass, and then, “Are you and Harry going to the party at Danny’s on the twenty first?”

“Invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail,” Niall snorts. “I don’t think Danny’s in my fanclub or anything, Louis.”

“He told Zayn to bring you, and Zayn was supposed to tell you to get Harry, because I don’t think Harry would go if I asked,” Louis explains.

Oh. Zayn.

“It’s not going to be like last time, because this one’s at his mum’s. She’s going to be there, in her room, so things shouldn’t get too crazy.” Rolling onto the pavement outside Niall’s house, Louis’ car makes a huffy noise like sympathetic annoyance.

“I’ll think about it,” Niall says.

“Harry will only go if you go,” Louis tells him.

That’s probably true.

“And I took the antibiotic the other day. I’m cured,” Louis adds.

“Is it only one? I thought it was a week’s worth,” Niall says. “I don’t know. Not really an expert on STIs, t’be honest.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, do ask Harry about the party. Zayn’s definitely going. He’s coming to mine for pre-drinks, at least.” Louis shrugs and inhales.

“Will do.” Niall pulls the handle, tossing a goodbye over his shoulder as he pulls out his phone.

> To: Zayn <3 — 4.59pm: _Are we going t Danny’s next weekend? I should probs let Harry know either way_

That sounds totally cool, probably – not too much like he’s making a dig.

But that Zayn wouldn’t tell him about it is an _insult_ , a low blow. Then again, maybe he hadn’t meant to keep it a secret. Maybe it slipped his mind.

Or maybe he’s remembering the humiliating duration of the last party, and he gets that swollen drop of his heart plummeting from beneath his burning throat and into his stomach.

Without thinking, he jabs out another text.

> To: Zayn <3 — 5.01pm: _You should have told me_

“ _Hi_ ,” Harry—Niall’s next mission—sings when he answers his phone, the sound of his voice threaded with the clatter of plates in the background.

“H’lo,” Niall grunts. “There’s a party next Saturday. You wanna come?”

“I’m definitely free. Whose is it?” Harry huffs, obviously distracted.

“Danny’s,” Niall replies.

“Erm, Niall,” Harry coughs slightly, abruptly stopping whatever he’s doing in favour of immediately becoming very concerned. Great. “Not to be a cliché, but are you sure that that’s a good idea?”

“Aw, c’mon. It wasn’t _that_ bad.” Niall dumps his books out of his bag one-handed, grimacing at the fluff and dirt that sprinkle over his stuff.

“You cried on Liam, and then you cried on Jesy’s breasts.”

“Yeah,” Niall allows. He definitely remembers that. “It’s different this time, Haz. Zayn’nd I’ve done things, now.”

“So what? Hand job virgin or not, you didn’t deserve that kind of shit. Those guys are mean, plain and simple,” Harry says firmly.

“Then you should come with me,” Niall suggests.

Harry goes quiet. “Aren’t you going with Zayn? I don’t want to third-wheel.”

“Louis’ll be there,” Niall says, an automatic response being to spit out the promise of Louis’ presence to goad Harry into doing things.

“Yeah.” A crackle as he sighs long and slowly into the phone. “He sent me a text today. He took the pill, and now he’s clear.”

Pulling off his shoe, Niall swallows, plonking down on his desk chair. “And you? Are you clear?”

“Yes,” Harry admits.

“That’s good, right? Jesus, you’re lucky,” Niall grins.

“Yeah, it is. Just means I got into a fight with Lou for nothing, though.”

“He’ll forgive you,” Niall states. “One hundred-percent.”

“You think so?” Harry asks hopefully. “I just want to put this behind us, you know? I miss him so much.”

“Aw, Haz, you cutie,” Niall clucks.

“He’s so lovely. He’s got such a nice smile, and I miss his jawline, and his hands,” Harry goes on. Niall puts the phone on speaker so he can at least get some work done while Harry gushes about Louis’ hair, Louis’ laugh, Louis’ favourite films, Louis playing football, Louis’—

“Whoa.” Niall grabs his phone. “Bro.”

“What?” Harry sounds like he’s just been pulled from a dream, dear God.

“Louis’ dick isn’t what I want to hear about,” Niall laughs.

“But it’s so cute. All pink and soft…”

“Bro!” Niall repeats, then screws up his face. “ _Soft_?”

“Soft-skinned,” Harry clarifies. “I even have a video of him fingering himself off.”

Niall groans because he can’t hang up. However, as hot as Louis may be—Niall’s in a relationship, not blind—there’s no way Niall wants to know what Louis likes to do with his bum in his spare time.

Which is a bit hypocritical, considering his next question:

After a deep breath, Niall blurts out softly, “Have you ever done it, Harry?”

“Fingered him? Yeah, obviously,” Harry snickers.

“No, I mean.” Niall closes his eyes, frowning at the smooth flush of warmth that starts to pulse in his groin. “Fingered yourself.”

“Oh. Yes,” Harry says casually. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods.

“Ha! After all that _lalala I can’t hear you_ stuff, you decided to give it a go?” Harry quickly pins on, “Did you like it?”

“It’s pretty good,” Niall shrugs.

“Oh,” Harry says in an excessively snobby tone. “ _Pretty good_ , was it? Not quite up to your high standards of wanking?”

“About seven out of ten, I’d say,” Niall answers, echoing the joke.

“Ah, I see.” Harry goes back to the clattering, maybe emptying the dishwasher.

“Well,” Niall says, dropping the accent. “It was a bit fuckin’ weird at first, but then it got better.”

“I know what you mean,” Harry sighs happily. “Did you find your prostate?”

“I did.”

“Took me a couple of goes. I was worried for a second when I couldn’t quite get it, but I don’t know what I was thinking.” Harry snorts quietly. “‘Help, doctor! I can’t find my prostate!’”

“Pitch that to the yearbook quotes page, I dare you,” Niall cackles loudly.

“I don’t think they would allow that kind of profanity,” Harry says. “Oh, I was going to ask, what’s happening on Friday? For your birthday?”

“Having the lads and gals over for drinks, pizza, and a movie.” Someone comes in through the front door of his house. “Thought of inviting Josh and Seth, but I don’t want to worry about them on my birthday.”

“Totally,” Harry agrees. “ _Ow_. Just burned my finger a little.”

“Aw, baby Hazzah, y’poor fingers,” Niall coos.

“Don’t be rude.” Somehow, Harry has found a way to make his pout _audible_. “What film?”

“ _Shaun of the Dead_ , for starters. Best film ever.”

His eyes catch a maths question, and he quickly scribbles the rest of the answer out, phone only letting out the pitter-patter from Harry’s end. The homework’s due tomorrow, and Niall’s been charming the pants off his teacher for a dangerous amount of time with number puns (from Harry) and talk of Derby. It’s only a matter of time before he actually has to hand stuff in.

“So yes or no to Danny’s party?” he asks again.

“Erm, yes,” Harry decides.

“Cool.” Niall flops in his chair, already over triangle areas after just three problems. “I’ve got shit to do. See you tomorrow, bro.”

“Bye,” Harry drawls in the same high-pitched way he greets people.

He might be right about the party.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“Niall!”

That— what? It’s like, seven o’ clock at night and Niall’s face is pressed against his pillow. He doesn’t even remember hauling his body into bed.

“Zayn’s here!” Greg adds from the bottom of the stairs.

Zayn.

The party.

“Shit,” Niall grumbles, rolling away from the wall (and nearly onto his floor) in record time. He feels puffy, and his tongue is dry and stale since he didn’t brush his teeth.

“Hi,” Zayn smiles from the doorway, soft and beautiful. “Got here just as Greg was, like, leaving.”

“Lucky. I would’ve slept through the doorbell,” Niall says, yawn creeping up his throat.

“Aw, you okay?” Zayn sits on Niall’s bed, patting and stroking Niall’s hair just how he likes. “You were a bit paler than usual, like, the past couple of days. Have you been sleeping alright, like?”

“T’be honest, school is stressing me out,” Niall admits. “There’s some creative writing stuff, and I _hate_ creative writing, and my music teacher wants me to write a song for the play next year.”

“Poor boy,” Zayn whispers sympathetically.

“And I overheard my dad on the phone,” Niall says, because he’s been thinking about this so fucking much, what it could mean. What his mum wants. “I think Mum is pushing for me and Greg to live with her.”

“What?” Zayn’s hand drops from Niall’s hair to his shoulder.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ clue,” Niall mutters. “Dad was arguing with her on the phone, but that’s nothing new. I just… Some comments she’s made lately, about wanting to see us more, and that we’d love her new neighbour’s dog, and that I should meet one of her friend’s daughters.”

“I mean, like, that…” Zayn bites his lip, blinks up, and asks quietly, “Would you move in with your mum?”

“Fuck no,” Niall says immediately.

“Jesus. Fast, like,” Zayn scoffs, but it sounds worried, tone measured.

“I love Mum, but she’s a bit much to live with. She likes to say that she wants me to be _traditional_ ,” Niall mocks.

Zayn snorts. “Ah. I love tradition. Like, selling women into marriage?”

“Maybe a lesser version. More like she can _just about_ handle gay stuff, but bi stuff?” He heightens to a falsetto with a hefty Irish accent. “ _It’s just a phase. You’re a wee boy with no idea what you want._ ”

“My mum may leave random boxes of condoms throughout my room, but at least she, like, doesn’t care who I’m using them with.” Zayn cuddles Niall up to his chest. “Sorry, love.”

“’S okay,” Niall lies. His brain jumps from condoms to sex to Danny. “The party, by the way…”

A huffy breath swoops past Niall’s ear and down the side of his neck, and he directs his confused frown upward.

“I want to go,” he adds.

“Like, I don’t know,” Zayn groans. “You _cried_ at the last one.”

“It’ll be different,” Niall insists.

Zayn’s head tips back, making his throat one long, inviting canvas for Niall’s lips.

Niall puts his ear to Zayn’s chest so that he has to tear his _I would let you eat me_ eyes away from Zayn’s face. “And Danny and Stan’ll be different.”

“Maybe,” Zayn sighs, unsure.

“And I _do_ like parties,” Niall goes on. “That was a one-off. I’m quite good at drinking. In my blood.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Zayn mutters.

“Then let me go,” Niall pleads, grinning like it’s a joke even though it’s not, because if Zayn said he didn’t want Niall to go, he wouldn’t.

“You have to promise that if something goes wrong, you’ll come to me, and let me take care of you,” Zayn says, stroking the back of Niall’s neck. Even with every bar threaded under his skin, he still looks cosy and protective and _safe_. Niall nods and stares for what he knows is too long. “Okay. We’ll go. Have you invited Harry?”

“Yeah.” Niall is mostly on top of Zayn, now. It wouldn’t take much to transition from conversation to kissing.

“Good.” Zayn’s stomach tightens under Niall’s as he bends in to meet him halfway, only pulling away to whisper, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Niall laughs gently.

It’s not tentative, the next kiss. It’s a kiss that will _go somewhere_. Go somewhere like the birthday gift they talked about, Niall creaming on Zayn’s face, and he fucking hopes that for all that’s going on in his mundane life that he’ll get this one little victory tonight.

They grind for ages, working their hips in rolling motions with Niall’s legs open around Zayn’s. Zayn makes nice sounds into Niall’s mouth, maybe letting go more than usual because they’re in an empty house. Niall grins at the hand the slips over his arse and clamps down on the squidgy meat of his cheek. He’s got nothing on Louis, but his bum’s definitely something Zayn seems to take his sweet time mapping out.

(Niall thinks for one long, brain-numbing second that this is exactly how he wants his first time to be. Slow. Easy. With a chuckle and a teasing nip here and there. That would be perfect.)

Zayn groans and grabs Niall’s thigh, calmly rolling them onto their sides, then Niall onto his back and him on top. Niall opens his mouth on Zayn’s neck, stiffy begging for a more intimate touch than what Zayn can give him through their trousers.

“Still want your side present?” Zayn grunts, pumping his hips harder.

“Shit. Yes.” Niall gasps when Zayn presses in to rub out a circle, catching the head of his dick. “Now?”

“Yeah, like, if you want it now,” Zayn says.

The build-up is skyrocketing high and wild, untamed excitement making for an unfortunately short blow job that ends with Niall whimpering, “Fuck,” and getting up on his elbows to watch Zayn work.

Zayn closes one eye to a thick glob that stripes down to his cheek, and the rest drips and hangs off his parted lips and down his chin. He automatically reaches up—the warm breath of Niall’s afterglow flooding his body means he doesn’t catch on in time to warn Zayn—to wipe the come off his eyelashes, ends up smearing it across his cheekbone. Niall is one hundred percent _gone_.

“Y’are a fucking _god_ ¸ Zayn,” he groans. Zayn licks his lips and smiles as though he’s trying to be coy at a time like this.

At that moment, Niall thinks for sure that this has already started to be his best birthday yet.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

On Wednesday, Maura comes to the house.

She doesn’t— doesn’t even have a fucking _key_ , and everyone’s out, which is why Niall has his hand on Zayn’s cock for the third time since they got there. He’s panting from sensitivity and pawing at Niall’s lower back, kissing his moans into Niall’s collarbone like he can’t believe how good it feels. Niall has been looking up _tips_ , is the thing, and right now he’s testing one out – the slow one, the one where he keeps his fist tight and carefully eases his hand up and down the shaft. As fondles Zayn’s balls in his palm, he gingerly reaches a finger _slightly_ further back. And that’s when he finds it.

“Is that the piercing you were talking about?” he asks, wriggling in Zayn’s lap to hide the warm pulse of precome wetting his boxers.

Zayn nods, looking like he can’t do much more than that. He kisses Niall on the lips, pulling back to close his eyes, brows pinched up as he comes on his stomach.

“Love your face,” Niall whispers, catching Zayn’s bottom lip gently between his teeth.

Zayn laughs breathily. “Love your hand jobs.”

“Love _you_ ,” Niall grins.

“I love you, too,” Zayn coos.

And the door opens.

At first, Niall thinks it’s Greg, because his dad never comes upstairs if Zayn’s around, but when he turns around in a halfhearted attempt to shield Zayn however he can, he sees his mum. His body is too meek and small to cover anything, Zayn’s dick still a bit hard in the loop of Niall’s fingers.

“Mum,” he stammers, and Maura stares.

“What are you doing?” she finally spits out.

“Get out,” Niall pleads.

She leaves, disgust drawn over her face.

“Oh my god,” Niall whimpers. He’s going through whiplash from horny to shitty, and Zayn seems just as panicked.

“Fuck. That’s awkward, like,” Zayn sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s she doing here?”

“I don’t know. She’s probably trying to sneak a talk in about moving or some shit,” Niall says, rushed as he gets dressed.

“Should I stay?” Zayn’s pulling on his tee shirt and skinny jeans, buckles on his boots smacking together as he pulls them on.

Niall thinks about how they must’ve looked – Zayn covered in jizz, Niall still holding him. The ultimate follow-up would be him sitting at Niall’s side in his black clothes, tattoos on full display.

“No, thanks,” Niall finally answers. “It’s, y’know. She’ll already be going mental.”

“So much for being traditional,” Zayn says lamely.

The lack of laughter has him shaking his head.

“Sorry. Stupid joke,” he mumbles.

“Nah, it’s okay. Just going to be another stressful night.” Niall leans into the hug he’s offered, nuzzling into Zayn’s neck. He’s about to get fucking butchered.

Zayn cups Niall’s overheating face, and Niall strokes his thumb over Zayn’s knuckles. “Should I call your dad? Like, she can’t just walk in. He’d want to know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall echoes. “When you’re outside. Please.”

“Of course,” Zayn says, big eyes and leftover flush clinging red to his skin.

He walks Zayn out, sneaking the most silent peck at the door and whispering their good-night goodbyes. God. This is such shit. His mum looks like stone.

“Niall. We need to have a chat.”

“Is Dad gonna be here?” he asks.

“Your father is not part of this. He’s proved himself incapable of handling these kinds of responsibilities.” Maura’s lips draw stern and tight. “That’s where you get it from, obviously.”

“Mum—” Niall begins to groan, but she cuts him off.

“It’s disgusting, what you were doing,” she interrupts.

“What, because Zayn’s a lad?” Niall frowns. Fire starts to burn his throat. “Jesus, Mum. I thought we were past that.”

“I said you could have a _relationship_. Not… _sex_.” She crosses the room and pulls out some papers. “I want you to come and live with me.”

Niall stares at his mum, his shoulders falling back and chin rising. She’s so little. Her visits over the years made Niall forget how she is, what kind of person she is. She’s not all smiles and misplaced comments, not when someone tells her _no_.

He’s never found loving someone so difficult.

Niall makes a point of trying not to fight. He tries to be good. He tries to be the smiles and the laughter because that’s easier than fighting, and problems usually evaporate in their own time when they’re not irritated.

Clearly, his mum has no intention of letting it be.

“No,” he says. “I’m living with Dad.”

Her voice goes soft, slick like ice. “You moved in with him because I couldn’t afford to keep you boys, but Mark has a great job, and we’re going to move into a bigger house.”

“We moved because you wouldn’t let us _do_ anything,” Niall protests.

The tone goes sour and desperate, instead. Good. Niall can live without the bullshit. “You come with me, or we bring lawyers in, and everybody _loses_ , Niall,” she says. “I love you and Greg. I can’t let you live in sin.”

“Oh, fuck _off_ , Mum,” he says, going for a flat snicker that sounds like a cough instead, and she gasps.

“I am your _mother_. You will _not_ speak to me like that,” she bites out. “Is that what _he’s_ teaching you?”

“Who? Harry? Zayn? Dad?” Niall steps back when he hears the front door and heavy, heavy footsteps. “I’m not moving.”

“Is _that_ what you’re doing here?” Bob asks, pushing past Niall to stand in front of him, facing Maura. “How did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked,” she sniffs.

“Greg left when we got home, and he _always_ locks the door,” Niall challenges, though his dad’s hand goes up to stop him.

“Empty your pockets,” he demands.

Maura juts her chin defiantly, reaches into her suit trousers, and pulls out their house key.

“You’re fucking mad,” Bob sighs. “Niall, go to your room.”

“I didn’t do anything—” he starts.

“You’re not in trouble. Just do it,” Bob hisses.

As Niall backs away from the scene, his insides draped on his bones with their full weight, Maura gets one last dig in.

“Do you know what I caught them doing?” Her eyes bore relentlessly into Niall’s. “Do you know what goes on under your own roof?”

“Nothing that I can’t handle,” Bob says.

Niall goes to his room.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

When the door slams shut and the buzz and spikes of his parents’ voices over his blaring headphones subsides, Niall turns off his iPod. Quiet. Greg isn’t home yet. His mum is gone.

He stopped listening after the first ten minutes.

The clock reads near eleven, and he’d been texting Zayn till he had to go – a History test looms in the morning, one that Niall has as well, so he should be trying to sleep too.

“Niall?”

Bob opens the door at Niall’s okay, standing with one hand on the frame, looking old. When they told Niall that they were getting a divorce, Niall wasn’t even surprised. Even at his young age, he could see how his mum absorbed the light in the room when she was upset, how it drained his dad the most.

“We have to talk,” he says quietly.

“That’s what Mum said,” Niall tells him.

“This is a different talk.” Bob sits on the desk chair. Niall sits up. “Maura told me what happened. When she walked in on you.”

If he blushes any harder his face will pop, even though it’s his dad, who’s never quite been savvy on the Gay Sex front, but has always _tried_.

“Are you okay?” Bob asks.

“Yeah, m’okay,” Niall shrugs. “Embarrassed.”

“Fair enough. Don’t know how she got that key.” Pulling his beanie off his sweaty, greying hair, Bob closes his eyes and breathes in. “Do you want to live with her?”

“Absolutely not. No way,” Niall scoffs.

“Good. That’s what I need to hear,” Bob smiles tiredly.

“Will I have to?” Niall hopes not. Hopes and prays on everything he has. He can’t go through it again – can’t go through the talks she’s put them through since they were small, about sin and abstinence and “respect”.

“She’s going to try,” Bob admits. “I’m not going to let her take you boys away from me.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Niall forces out a yawn. “It’s been a long one. I have an exam in first.”

“Okay.” He stands and he pauses and he says nothing except, “Good night,” then he’s out, and Greg’s not home till Friday morning. Niall feels more alone than he wants or needs right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


	14. Certainly Not A Phallic Symbol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lone beta, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/). My other two have been busy with school and such.
> 
> If you would like to be a beta for me (99% Ziall, and I have one Lilo fic that I'd like someone to go over) just check out my [tumblr](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/) and leave me a message! (Please don't if you don't have really good grammar and spelling. It's important that betas actually do what they're supposed to do.)

When Niall wakes up the next morning, it’s to a sound he thought would never have the sick pleasure of gracing his ears again – his parents fighting. Mum squawks something, Dad keeps his tone low.

> To: Zayn <3 — 7.14am: _Mum’s here, bitchin out Dad._

He erases those words from his screen, tapping out the letters one by one with a smile, like he can force himself to be cheery from the outside-in.

> To: Zayn <3 — 7.14am: _Morning! x_

The relief he blows out when the front door swings open and closed is too short, over too soon, too much hope and unrealistic expectations to conquer his parents’ spectacular ability to never agree on one thing. Niall loves them both, really, but it’s a bit much when he’s getting three flat knocks on his door, and Greg’s old school bag is thrown onto his bed.

“Your mum says _hi_ ,” his dad tells him with… a fairly good impression of her voice, actually. “I think you should go away for a bit.”

“With her?” Niall asks quietly, knowing he won’t do any different if the answer is yes.

The sharpness loses its edge, caving in as he sighs through his nose. “No, just to a friend’s. Maura’s bringing her fecking lawyer here sometime in the next few days, that shitty bastard who likes her to play the victim.” He sits/drops onto Niall’s bed, looking nowhere but Niall’s face, because as well as being able to do good imitations of voices and accents, their honesty is also hereditary. Bob would never lie to Niall. “She wants to take you and Greg out for a chat, and we all know how that’ll go, but I won’t let her talk to you without Robin there, alright?”

Robin became Bob’s lawyer at the first spark of real trouble, in exchange for Bob’s help in building the fence around Anne’s farm. It ended in a little bit of blood, and one of Harry’s uncles knocked down a good chunk of it with the lawn mower, so it was a moot point anyway. Made for a good laugh, though.

“You need to be at someone’s whose address she doesn’t know. Has Zayn got room?” he asks.

“Mum dropped him off at home after tea,” Niall says, remembering that harmless night, his mum’s smile feeling like a toothy, pink-lipped lie right now.

“What about that buff lad, Liam?” his dad tries.

“She picked him up before the music thing,” Niall groans.

“Louis, then? He’s a laugh. And his parents have split up, haven’t they? Maybe he’ll understand better.”

Niall looks at his bed, away, still slightly ashamed. “Erm, we had a little bit of a falling out. I don’t know if I could ask him for that.”

His dad lifts a hand from his knee. “Can you fix it?”

“Maybe,” Niall shrugs.

“Try,” Bob insists. “It’s that or— or I’ll have to call Josh’s dad, or something.”

“Dad, no,” Niall whines.

“They’re pricks, but they know what your mum’s like.” He doesn’t seem to have enough options to reach all the fingers on one hand, already running out. “I’m sorry, Niall.”

Niall doesn’t say, “Nah, it’s alright,” or, “It’s not your fault.” He nods with his lips tucked in because there’s no point in arguing, nothing he can do when it’s 7am and his dad’s looking at him with sad eyes telling Niall that he knows exactly how shitty this whole deal is.

That doesn’t help him when he’s fresh out the shower, warmth sweating onto his phone, and Louis answers all groggily like, “The fuck, Niall? I thought we were bros, you and I. And Zayn. Never interrupting a lad’s sleep without blowing them first, and that.”

He’s so witty for someone who’s apparently just woken up, Niall thinks in delight. It’s his first smile of the day, and he tries to tie it to his voice, like he can make this not a _thing_. “Morning, Lou.”

“Yeah, I know it is. I’ve not even got a class till ten, you tit,” Louis grumbles.

“I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important,” Niall says. He swallows.

“Well,” Louis says, but he’s quieter now, softer than his brittle, indignant chirp. “I should hope not.”

“It’s my… Mum’s trying some shit, you know? With me ’nd Greg. I can’t stay at mine right now, because she keeps showing up and barging in, and her lawyer’s coming. She wants us to move.” And he hates how the words crumble as he shoves them out, but he’s worried, and lonely.

“Do you, erm, want to come to my house for a few nights? You’d have to pitch in for chores because my mum doesn’t like it when people stay and don’t help out, but you can sleep in my room,” Louis says slowly.

Relief washes down his body, though it doesn’t quite soothe his jittery teeth. “Yes, please. I’m sorry, Louis.”

“No, it’s alright. You’re one of my best friends, Niall. Shit happens between friends, and shit happens with parents. Shit just—” He dawdles off into a yawn. “—happens.”

“Yeah,” Niall nods. “Thanks, Lou. I’ll see you at school?”

“Yeah,” Louis yawns again, seemingly asleep before Niall even hangs up.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

“So v’ass ’appenin’ with your mum?” is the second thing Zayn says to him, the first being an overly sympathetic _hi_.

“A lot. I’ll tell you later,” Niall shrugs, leaning into Zayn’s hug, body, and smell. “It’s not so bad.”

Zayn looks at him a little strangely, but grins and returns Niall’s exaggerated smooch noises till they’re kissing for real, and then Jesy slips her hand up Niall’s chest to pinch the weak patch of hair.

“Ow,” he whines, pouting.

“Gaw, it’s like a rainforest in there,” she laughs.

“Growing it,” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot and tilting his head so Zayn can nose into his throat.

Jesy peels herself away from the conversation, cuddling into Jade’s side. They’re wearing matching beanies.

“Niall,” Louis says, quickly taking Jesy’s place, “I’ve got my car in the lot, if you want to free up some space in your locker, or do we have to drive past yours after school?”

Pulling his face out of Niall’s jumper, Zayn asks, very coolly and calmly, “What’s this?”

“Niall’s staying at mine tonight,” Louis explains quietly.

“You said it wasn’t that bad,” Zayn whispers, holding Niall’s face in his gloved hands, thick eyelashes framing his big, concerned eyes. Dear God.

“It’s just in case my mum shows up again,” Niall insists. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Though Louis gives in easily, Zayn’s shoulders slump and his mouth twitches, another hug too tight to be anything less than a shittonne of worry. Niall grumbles a little bit, complying anyway. Because he looks beautiful when he’s worried. Because he’s Zayn.

“What’s everyone wearing on Friday?” Jade asks. “I mean, I’ve got jeans picked out, but I don’t know which top to wear.”

“We’re only watching movies, so just something comfortable,” Harry shrugs.

“Oh, shit,” Niall groans. “I forgot about that.”

Zayn rubs the back of his neck, very sympathetic and pretty, and Niall can only count three facial piercings on him. It’s a little bit like seeing Zayn naked when he hasn’t got so many bulbs of metal clinging to various parts of his face.

“Can you not have it at yours because of the thing?” Louis asks.

 _The thing_.

Frowning, Liam asks, “What _thing_?”

“Getting his kitchen done, or whatever it is,” Louis answers, shooing the questions away. “Bugger. What’s happening, then?”

Niall has no idea, but Harry’s face becomes one big, dimpled grin. “We could have it at the farm, bro!”

Louis’ face twists up in confusion. “ _The farm_?”

“Mum has a farm that she inherited, right, and I could ask if we could have it there,” Harry explains.

“Your mum is _not_ going to let, what, ten teenagers drink in her house,” Perrie snorts. “I dated your sister, remember? I know how posh Anne is.”

“I’ll ask,” Harry repeats, taking Louis’ hand even as Louis rolls his eyes and sighs like the mere thought of moving is too much to bear.

They chat some more about other places to have it, none quite on par with Harry’s idea, and Leigh-Anne’s Coke gets knocked by Liam’s foot when Louis pulls his beanie past his eyes and nose.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he promises, tugging Liam’s tee shirt to his armpits when Liam tries to fix his beanie.

“Oi,” Liam barks, playfully annoyed as he swats Louis’ troublesome hands away.

“Poor baby,” Sophia coos, and Liam pouts till she takes pity on him with a kiss to his cheek.

“Mum said yes,” Harry grins, dropping down and pulling Louis into his lap. “Like, she’s going to be in the old maids’ house, which is on the property, but we’re allowed to drink, and make pizza! We have a pizza oven!”

“Sick,” Zayn whispers, stroking Niall’s hair. “Like, that’s one less thing to worry about, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall agrees. “Thanks, Haz.”

“Anything for you.” Harry puts on his thinking face, which would usually raise alarm bells, but Niall honestly can’t criticise him right now. “We have a teachers only day tomorrow, don’t we? Louis and I could set up, and everyone can take the train up at four, and then you’ll all be there by sixish. I think it’s, like, a fiver, and the same back. We’ll all be staying the night there, if everyone can.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Liam nods.

Niall decides to give in and bask under the light of Zayn’s protective streak, cuddled and hugged and petted at every given moment. After school, Zayn even strokes Niall’s back and plays with his hair until he falls asleep. Despite it all, Niall can’t stop _smiling_ , chatting happily about dyeing his hair again when he comes to. Zayn just nods and agrees, more like compliance than actual acknowledgment.

“What’s Greg doing?” he finally asks, neck probably sore from bobbing his head up and down at everything that comes out of Niall’s mouth. “Is he at Denise’s?”

“Greg’s moving out soon, like.” Niall answers like it doesn’t fucking sting that Greg only told him once he got home today, before he left for Zayn’s.

“With Denise?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, like?” Zayn repeats, words slow with caution.

“Yeah, he’s moving out with Denise,” Niall clarifies.

Zayn squints. “Doesn’t your mum, like, mind, ’cause they’re not married?”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s twenty, so he can do what he likes.” As he starts to cuddle up again, Zayn resumes patting his hair, but apparently not to ease him into another nap.

“There’s a job going at my book shop. You mentioned looking,” he says. It’s a sharp curve in the conversation, awkwardly placed on his tongue. Niall nods. “It’s basic, like. You unbox the books, sort them into genres, and put them on the shelves.”

“So I should… get my CV together?” Niall asks.

“Yeah. And maybe you getting a job will make it harder for your mum to move you.”

Niall shoves his face into Zayn’s tartan shirt and bites gently, getting a perfect lock on Zayn’s nipple if the wince is anything to go by.

“Ow,” he groans, rolling Niall away. “Get off.”

“Mm, don’t know if I could,” Niall smirks. It was supposed to be a joke, just kidding, haha, yet Zayn’s eyebrows are sloping with concern. “Really stressed right now.”

“Baby,” Zayn coos. “Didn’t even come yesterday, did you?”

“No, but… Seriously, I don’t even feel like it,” Niall mumbles.

“Sure?” Zayn rests on his side, putting them eye-to-eye, lips just an inch away, body so warm where they’re touching from the hands down to their thighs. His lovely voice is quiet and soft as he says, “I could suck you off the way you really like. Slow and tight. Take the edge off, but only if you want to.”

“Slowly?” Niall repeats, curling his hand around Zayn’s. He _hadn’t_ felt like it, but Zayn’s blow jobs are to die for, so that changes quickly.

“Yeah, like, gentle stuff, easygoing, and you don’t even have to return the favour,” Zayn promises. “If anything, I’m returning yesterday’s _triple_ favour.”

“That sounds nice,” Niall admits, eagerly leaning in to Zayn’s offered mouth.

It’s kinda— difficult, trying to push stress out of his bones enough to allow the fingers slipping over his crotch to relax him. Zayn keeps his word, takes his time down Niall’s neck and his collarbone and his nipples, petting Niall’s cock through his jeans. He’s careful, and it’s making Niall think some more.

He could lose his virginity to Zayn. Like this. Maybe with some music and a darker room.

Zayn whispers, “Do you like this?” and sucks the skin just south of his right nipple, working his way up again.

“Yeah,” Niall smiles, closing his eyes.

“Good. I like to see how they get all pink, just wanna make you feel good, yeah?”

“Thanks, Zayn,” Niall sighs happily.

Zayn gets Niall’s belt and flies open, still kissing above Niall’s waistband. His tongue runs flat from the fabric to his bellybutton and Niall grunts and shifts his hips, even the stretch of his underwear over his tip making him impatient.

His briefs are spitty and sticking to him when Zayn’s done mouthing at him, and finally— _finally_ —his cock is out. Zayn’s hand closes around his shaft quickly, the squeeze of his fist sliding up and down, _exactly_ how Niall likes it, and he’s a fair bit amazed that Zayn can read him well enough to know what kind of blow job will suit the situation.

Zayn keeps the pace while he’s sucking him off. He spends forever going in one-fast-two-slow bobs so that Niall’s orgasm builds brick by brick, the minutes flicking by on Zayn’s alarm clock while Niall pants and tries not to come despite Zayn doing everything perfectly. Jesus Christ, the stuff he can do with his tongue.

He slurps and sucks for little over seven minutes, bless his poor jaw, before Niall hisses, “I’m gonna come, Zayn, I’m gonna come.”

“On my face? Would you like that?” Zayn smirks.

“Yes please,” Niall gasps. He heaves in one breath after another but clenches his teeth hard as his jizz hits Zayn’s lips and chin. Oh, he’s wonderful, licking the pink head of Niall’s cock clean, then his own lips.

“Good, now?” he asks, wiping off what’s left on his duvet. “D’you feel better?”

“Yeah.” Niall’s heart is still thumping through the warm flushes of his afterglow. He needed that, more than he’d thought.

He’s still pondering about his virginity as Zayn kisses him square on the mouth, that tangy bitterness of come pressed against Niall’s lips. Zayn seems to realise what he’s done, because he pulls away with a sheepish, “Sorry, love.”

“No, it’s okay.” Niall kisses him again as proof. Not something they’ll do all the time, but his afterglow deems him pliant enough to keep going, though he doesn’t have to do much since Zayn’s keeping it so calm.

“Got a new rack for my nail polishes,” Zayn says.

“Next time Louis asks what you’re like in bed, I’m gonna tell him what your idea of pillow talk is,” Niall grins, _ah_ ing when Zayn opens his warm mouth on Niall’s earlobe and nibbles.

“Mm, you do that,” Zayn agrees, rough as he laughs with Niall.

“Okay, let’s see your rack, then.” Haha. _Rack_.

They’re a wreck when they finally get over it, like twelve year olds at the mention of _penis_. Zayn is giggling up close, eyes squinting and nose scrunching, and Niall falls a little bit more in love with him right then and there.

“Do you think, maybe,” Niall smiles, “you would have sex with me?”

Zayn’s grin gets smaller, softer, caught off-guard. “Is that a formal invitation?”

“Yeah, you tit,” Niall snorts, craning for a kiss.

“Okay,” Zayn mumbles into it. “If you like, I can start showing you how to get me ready, yeah? Fingering, ’nd that.”

“Okay,” Niall says without thinking.

“It’s not as weird as it sounds, and it’s not, like, nasty or anything. Maybe… You could come here tomorrow, and we could work on it. Baby steps. Then catch the train to Harry’s.”

Niall’d thought that— Zayn would be on top, doing the fucking, and probably really good at it. Must be a bit hard to do that well. Niall isn’t sure that he could make Zayn feel the same things he does when he’s fingering himself off, but he could try.

Louis comes to pick him up not long after that, pulling up outside Zayn’s with a nice text to alert Niall of his presence.

> From: Louis! — 6.23pm: _Either come the fuck out or I’m fucking the fuck off!_

> To: Louis! — 6.24pm: _Did you steal that from The Thick Of It ? Btw already came out remember hahahaha_

Seeing the text, Zayn groans through his teeth as he allows a goodbye kiss, brows pulled up in apparent pain. He piggybacks Niall down the stairs with glee and Niall wonders if it’s because sex is finally on the table, up for discussion, a possibility in the near future. Lines of a conversation with Louis start to map out in Niall’s head – questions about how to be a good top and get the angle right so he can hit that Holy Grail spot.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Instead of all the starters and smooth entries into a How To Have Great Sex 101 discussion, Niall—on the pull-out bed from under Louis’—checks the clock, 22.05, and whispers, “Louis,” into the dark.

“Mm,” Louis grunts.

Niall sits up, bunching the _Transformers_ sleeping bag around his shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”

Thankfully, Louis doesn’t give him that _you just did_ shit. He says, “Yeah, but I’ve got to tell you, fucking with my sleep pattern twice in one day is putting you back in dodgy territory.”

He laughs because he knows, not wanting to take the piss when Louis is being so incredibly hospitable. “Sorry, but I was wondering, what’s sex like?”

“Sex?” Louis echoes. “I’m not a top. You’ll be wanting to hear from Harry, I think.”

“I want to know what it’s like for a bottom,” Niall says, grin popping up from his nervousness.

Louis goes silent, then hums, props up on his elbows, and smiles. It’s very calm and a little bit smug, voice small like he’s trying not to smirk. “The first time, I thought I was going to piss or shit myself, or both. It’s something stuck _right_ up there, _moving_. It’s so weird.” He sighs. “Then, about the third time, the guy I was with managed to get my prostate, and _boom_ —” Louis mimics a bomb going off. “I came all over his black duvet. Good riddance because it was a fucking awful bedspread.”

At that, Niall cackles, instantly relaxing as Louis puts him at ease. He’s very good at using his bluntness to startle people into comfort.

“I topped when I lost my virginity, and it’s alright, dicking into someone. Bottoming’s good too, except everything is so much more intense. I love it,” he breathes out. “Why?”

“I think… Zayn and I are going to have sex, soon. He’s going to show me how to finger him,” Niall says. His face goes so hot that he presses the back of his hand against his cheek, hyperaware of his timid enthusiasm regarding the mere thought of Zayn’s lovely body all naked with Niall’s.

Louis’ eyebrows arch. “Oh? Zayn will love it. You’re gonna be shit on your first time, over in two minutes, you’re not gonna get his prostate, and he’s not gonna come, but he’s so stupidly in love with you that none of that will matter. You can’t tell him I told you this, alright?”

“Alright,” Niall says, wriggling closer.

“He’s been talking about having sex with you,” Louis says quietly. “This is a really big deal for him. His first time was to prove he was straight, then it was Luke with that White Knight shit, and the times after that about little more than getting off. Which is fine, but it’s not like it means much. This’ll be the first time he does it out of _love_ , and that scares him, I think. He’s got such a big heart, that sod.”

“Shit.” Niall swallows. “Louis, can _I_ tell you something?”

“Of course,” Louis nods.

Fire sits on the surface of his skin, burning brighter with his words; “I don’t know if I want to do it like that.”

“I feel that,” Louis smiles. “He pulled the short straw on bums, I think. Have you told him?”

Niall shakes his head.

“Maybe you should just… top the first round, then see how you feel,” Louis suggests slowly. To answer Niall’s obvious confusion, he adds, “Sex is weird when you’ve never done it before. You think you know what to expect but you have no idea, I promise. Bottoming is… complicated, and stressful. It’s like a different category of first-time freak-outs, and I personally would never mix those two up. Do you get what I’m saying?”

With a little bit of hesitance, Niall nods, gnawing his upper lip in thought like a monster from _Where The Wild Things Are_.

“I would say my top topping tips are probably three fingers, go slowly, listen for further instruction, and… Oh!” Louis snaps his fingers. “When you’re in, don’t start thrusting. You just wanna kinda grind against him for a bit, to loosen everything up.”

“Thanks, Louis,” Niall snorts.

“Anytime, Nialler,” Louis grins. “I mean it. If you want to talk about anything, I’ll listen. School, sex, your parents… I think I’d have to draw the line at your parents’ sex. Anything else, just not that. Or _my_ parents’ sex.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Niall groans. “I don’t want to think about _anyone’s_ parents’ sex.”

“Fair enough,” Louis nods.

“Hey, by the way, the Luke that Zayn slept with… That’s not Luke in our English class, right?” Niall asks.

“Nah, Luke moved away,” Louis says. “Anything else? Want me to tell you all the dirty details of Zayn’s ex-lovers?”

“Good night, Louis,” Niall snickers, turning away and rolling up in his sleeping bag.

“If you get cold, just come and cuddle with me. No homo.”

“I don’t do _no homo_. All the homo,” Niall yawns, raising his fist lazily like an act of victory.

Louis snickers, and then it’s quiet.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall shows up at Zayn’s a little after 10am, and Zayn drags him up against the wall for an excited snog the instant they’re through the door. Along with Prada, they watch _Kick Ass_ in the den, cuddled up though feeding off the general buzz they have going at what could— _will_ —happen when they’re upstairs, on the bed.

They’re clambering over each other as they make their way to Zayn’s room, Niall tenderly folding Zayn’s jacket off his shoulders and over his desk chair, Zayn pushing Niall’s jumper up and up and off. Everything is happening so slowly, low sighs and little whimpers in between, like they’ve suddenly shuddered into a pace that allows for all their movements to flow in waves.

They’ve seen each other naked before, yet the same nervousness dances past Niall’s eyelids and down to his toes. Zayn is undoing his belt and grinning against Niall’s mouth. In a moment of curiosity, Niall grabs at Zayn’s arse and feels him up - Zayn moans with his voice all low and breathy, leaning back to take off his tee shirt, sitting down on his bed and pulling his jeans down his legs. Niall watches.

Zayn looks up, smiling, tugs Niall forward by his undone belt. Then Niall’s trousers are gone, and he’s on top of Zayn, between his legs with their hard cocks rubbing through their pants as they roll their hips into each other. Everything’s so intimate that Niall actually forgets what the fuss is about until Zayn reaches behind his pillow and pulls out a bottle, different from the one he uses when Niall’s giving him a hand job because it’s red and says _Anal Play - Warming_ on the label.

“You have to be gentle,” Zayn says, his big, beautiful eyes gazing up at Niall like he’s the whole universe, a near-obscene amount of love and trust in them. Niall nods, leaning down for a kiss just for the familiarity.

Something else is poking out from under Zayn’s pillow, and as Niall sits up, he sees the blue edge of it, reaches out. Zayn is wriggling his briefs down, pulling his cock over the waistband. Niall’s attention is on the condom in his hand.

“Oh, erm,” Zayn coughs. “That was just, like, in case we decided to go further. I dunno.”

That’s still a stressful thought – prepping Zayn, putting his dick in, lasting, trying to make it feel good. Niall sits back on his ankles, lowering his hand to Zayn’s stomach and stroking the fair hairs that have pricked up.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to have sex, or, like, this,” Zayn says once a few long, daunting seconds have crept by.

“I just… don’t want to top. Is _that_ okay?” Niall asks, thinking about Louis, wondering if Zayn agrees, if he’s going to insist that they do it the way Louis said.

And Zayn sits up, concern breaking into a lopsided, sheepish grin. “I’m not even a fucking bottom.” He slips his hand into Niall’s briefs and mouths up Niall’s throat to his mouth, stroking his cock as he whispers, “Lie down, love.”

Niall lifts his hips when he’s prompted, tracing Zayn’s fingers as they hook into his pants and pull them down. He pumps Zayn’s dick in a tight fist, eyeing the slick glisten of lube as Zayn smears it with his thumb.

“Have you done this before?” They’re warm, slipping over his hole with more care than Niall ever gave it, foreign and exciting when they press a little more.

“Yeah,” Niall says, remembering the weekend where he had his fingers inside him more often than he didn’t. He takes his cock in his hand and starts wanking, maybe a little faster than he should, adding, “Thinking of you.”

“Fuck’s sake, Niall,” Zayn grins.

His fingertip pushes in and Niall whimpers, that same weird feeling of getting tight around it reminding him how good this is. Zayn keeps going, slow and steady, bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he watches the whole thing, holding his dick with his free hand.

“God,” Zayn sighs, then has to clear his throat and refill his lungs. Another finger. “Alright?”

Niall nods, not sure if he can say anything that comes close to articulating how he feels right now. Brilliant. Turned on. Impatient. Pleased that this is going okay, and Zayn is going to finger him off.

“Do you want to get on top, like?” He’s nothing short of wrecked, hair spilling out of his quiff, open mouth hitched on one side into a cheeky smile. He hasn’t gone for Niall’s prostate yet, fingers slipping out when Niall agrees.

They settle, Niall’s thighs wide apart over Zayn’s hips and dick. There’s nothing about them that isn’t so fucking naked right now. Zayn could finger him open and fuck him in just minutes, which has Niall’s heart flicking hard against his ribcage in stuttered beats, the idea that he could come like that, totally _ruined_ by Zayn.

Zayn’s finger worms back in with little more than the initial push on his rim, sly smile complemented by the sweaty red dusting his cheeks and neck. He’s so beautiful that the first time he touches that _spot_ Niall groans without even pretending he’s not absolutely loving this. Having Zayn inside. Making Zayn want him like nobody else has ever wanted him before.

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” Zayn whispers, other hand falling from Niall’s waist to their dicks. Niall’s hangs heavily between them, while Zayn’s lies on his stomach all thick and dark and _big_. Niall thinks back to being fourteen and learning that sixty nine wasn’t just the number before seventy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Niall replies automatically, forcing himself further onto Zayn’s fingers.

Niall’s hips jab down hard, gasps and moans matching up with Zayn’s rhythm. He has to drop to his elbows when Zayn makes a fist around their cocks and picks up from the light stroking to actual proper jerks, unbelievably close to losing it. Just like that.

The burn, nice and sort of dirty-sexy as it was, has started to calm into a more relaxed sensation as Zayn’s fingers rub up against his walls and his prostate. Niall was right because Zayn is fucking ace at this, brilliantly working all the angles and speeds. Zayn’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing through his nose in elongated inhales and exhales as he tries to keep his cool; knowing better than to think that Zayn isn’t half as turned on as him, Niall smirks at the tiny twitches of Zayn’s eyebrows, the whimpers, the grunts, the _groans_.

He’s— he’s always so pretty but there’s an intimacy to seeing Zayn lose himself to little more than a half-arsed hand job. This is a new kind of pretty. Every time Niall thinks he’s seen every inch of Zayn’s beauty he just comes up with more, somehow.

There’s a moment, near the end if the pulsing in Niall’s balls has anything to say about it, where they’re just looking at each other, equally sweaty but so in love that all Niall does is give a laugh-gasp as Zayn comes on himself. Zayn beams up at him even though he’s clearly melting into a great afterglow, getting firmer with his finger till the sparks fly and Niall makes more of a mess on Zayn.

“Oh, love,” Zayn sighs, opening his arms for the stickiest hug ever. His arse twitches around nothing, sudden emptiness a bit uncomfortable, but Niall can’t open his mouth to complain. He’s completely done. “Jesus.”

“I second that,” Niall manages to mumble.

“So you should.” Zayn finds the last of his energy, and uses it to kiss Niall’s head, hand flopping into Niall’s hair. “That was, like, amazing.”

Niall could well fall asleep. They have to start getting ready at about 3pm. He strokes Zayn’s silky-smooth chest with his fingertips, tiptoeing to Zayn’s tattoos. “I know how bummed you are about having to top, but hopefully I’ll make up for it.”

“You’d better,” Zayn says, no venom.

The smell of spunk is thick and not nearly as sexy as it was five minutes ago. “We need to shower. Could we shower together?”

Zayn puts his hand behind his head. “Do you want to?” he asks, voice soppy and loved up. Niall soaks up that tenderness like it’s everything good in the world.

Though they’re blushing and kissing and grinning stupidly as they make their way to the bathroom—still in the nude—they manage to get into the shower with no hassle. Zayn is palming Niall all over, shoulders to chest, waist to hips, thighs to bum, anywhere he can get to without detaching his lips from Niall’s.

“I wanna rim you,” he whispers, rubbing one soapy finger down Niall’s crack. “God, it’ll feel, like, fantastic, I promise.”

Niall thinks about the hair that creeps back from his balls to his arse, but Zayn’s already seen that, hasn’t he? And he still wants to put his mouth there. Huh.

“I just want to be back inside you,” Zayn whimpers.

Breath coming to him unsteady and broken, Niall nods, much to Zayn’s apparent delight. They wash the come off themselves, water battering against their backs as they take turns standing under the stream, always facing each other, hair sticking to their foreheads. Zayn’s is way longer than Niall’s. Skin slippery, it doesn’t take much more than being pressed against each other for Niall to get hard, dick going stiff in quick pulses while they snog leaning on the tiled wall for balance. Zayn turns off the shower, toweling them both clumsily, leading Niall into his room. Zayn has his body up to Niall’s like they’re gonna rub off on each other, mouth drawing sloppy kisses down Niall’s neck so all Niall can see are his shoulders moving as he thrusts against Niall’s cock.

This is what he’s going to see when they’re having sex, when Zayn’s dick is _inside him_ , hips pumping in and out.

“Shit,” Zayn whispers. “Roll— roll over, please.”

Or maybe this. He might be stomach-down, facing Zayn’s desk and his drawings. Not overwhelmingly poetic, but he’ll take it.

Zayn gets to work quickly, eager to slick up his fingers and push them in, one at a time, and Niall’s dick gives an almighty jump like the sudden attention’s too much, too fast. Zayn says, “It’s gonna feel weird, yeah? Then you’ll give it a minute, and it’ll change, like. Fucking hell.”

The anticipation is becoming unbearable; Niall's so excited that there’s no way he’ll last long, which is annoying to say the least.

“Try not to move until I say, alright?” Niall nods, cheek scratching against the pillow. Is this the part where he sticks his arse in the air? “Alright? Flat, just lie there.” Oh. Okay.

“Mmhm,” Niall agrees.

Zayn’s warm lips are nice on Niall’s back, hands sliding down his sides and squeezing at his arse cheeks. He spends a long time playing with them, kissing his skin, little grunting moans in sync with the rustle of the sheets. Niall guesses that Zayn’s humping the bed. That’s hot. That’s ridiculously, unbelievably—

Zayn licks him.

Slowly. From his balls to the top of his crack. Niall’s hole flinches even though he had three fingers up there today but this is a _tongue_. Zayn was right, it _is_ weird, kinda wet and sloppy when he wiggles his tongue around and around, a spiral that leads to the tip working its way inside. Niall gives a self-conscious shudder and lets Zayn do his thing.

Two fingers join Zayn’s tongue and the low simmer of warmth has Niall melting, lazy thrusts rubbing his dick against the duvet. Even the sucking and kissing starts to get pretty good pretty quickly, going from _pokey_ and _wrong_ to tingling and soft.

Moans gathering damply on the pillow, Niall tries to control his ruts, ducking his head when the warm touch jumps as Zayn strokes his prostate, breaking the pattern with a surprise tapping every so often. He’s amazing. Spectacular. Brilliant. Niall is openly panting and begging – for what, he doesn’t know, but the groans and starting to form pleas that Zayn reacts generously to. The sweat is cooling on his back and Zayn’s nails drag down and his palm smoothes the four red tracks. Niall strains up, bunching the pillow in his arms and shoving his hips down, taking in a big gasp, surprisingly silent as he soaks Zayn’s duvet. In a sudden of realisation, he remembers Louis saying that he did the same thing. Ha.

“Oh my god,” Zayn murmurs from halfway down the bed. His voice is thick and wet, so low, but breathy. Niall turns around to see him, watches Zayn wipe his mouth on his wrist. He leans right over Niall for the waterbottle, dick at least semi-hard and flushed reddish.

Niall licks his lips. “Should I blow you?”

“Already came,” Zayn grins. “The sounds you make, love. I wanna record them, like, so I can hear you when I’m jackin’ it.”

“Oh, you always know how to romance me,” Niall laughs, turning over. They’re on the other side of the bed but Niall’s arse is sticking to the dry sheets. Sweaty and kissing, they waste away a good half hour touching places their hands have already been, places they want to touch next.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Another shower later, they finally start to get ready. Niall is wearing grey skinny jeans and his blue jumper. Zayn styles his own hair in just his boxers, broad, sharp shoulders pinched into his tiny waist with the dark green sliced across his hips, framing the subtle curve of his arse. There’s not much of it, but Niall tips his head and admires what Zayn has. It’s very cute, and this is one of the first times in their entire six months that he’s been able to concentrate solely on Zayn’s body, how his bum leads to his small thighs and weedy calves. Going up again, Zayn’s shoulders are hunched, hips cocked forward so his spine curves like a slender question mark.

“Looks good?” Zayn asks, fluffing his fringe up and swooping it slightly to the side.

Niall stands up. “Looks sick.” He pushes his face between Zayn’s shoulderblades, nosing into his skin. They smell the same, having used the same bodywash, shampoo, _and_ conditioner. “What’re you wearing, Zaynie?”

“You can pick my outfit, if you want,” Zayn offers, laughing as Niall brightens and scampers to the dresser. The red Henley that makes Zayn look like Sex on Legs (or a model, Niall hasn’t decided which) and the black skinnies.

“I like these,” he says.

“Same. Very cool,” Zayn nods.

The red clings to his body in all the right places (everywhere, basically) as though Niall had plucked a broad paintbrush right off Zayn’s desk and spread colour over Zayn’s muscles. Niall rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder as the train bumps and skitters along the train tracks, fingertips slipping under the hem to hold Zayn’s hip, so smooth, zoning out as he strokes the bone and the others chat about upcoming homework. Niall jumps in every so often, but it’s like their— _ahem_ —earlier activities have put him in a daze that can only be steadily broken by Zayn’s giggle and his arm slung around Niall’s waist, keeping him close. Zayn’s sleeves are rucked to his elbow, leaving his tattoos exposed to Niall’s wondering hands.

He finally snaps out of it completely when Harry and Louis burst through the door, fairy lights suddenly coming to life on the roof.

“Ha! You legends,” Niall cackles, eyes wide at the outline of a cake speckled in multicolour lights.

Harry’s big arms swoop around Niall’s middle. “It took a while,” he grins.

“Did that happen on the roof?” Zayn asks. He’s holding Louis’ wrist, which is bandaged.

“Mate, I haven’t even come up with a story yet. I can’t just say, ‘Burned my hand on a hot pan,’ can I?” Louis grins, rolling his eyes. “We got it done in the end, though. Nice, big cake with thick icing and a lovely decoration that is certainly _not_ a phallic symbol.”

“Only because I wouldn’t let him,” Harry mumbles.

It’s nice to see them as a couple again, banter and teasing intact. Louis rubs his knuckles into Harry’s scalp and slaps a sloppy kiss onto Harry’s cheek. He has to go up on tiptoes to do so.

A small alarm goes off from Harry’s phone.

“Pizza!” he exclaims.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Presents sit in a small stack on the living room table, some immaculately wrapped (Sophia’s) and some a bit clumsy and ninety nine percent cellotape (Liam’s). There’s a new football from Louis, because Niall’s has worn and deflated; a cookbook from Harry alongside a heartfelt, smiley-dotted card; a green beanie from Sophia; matching socks from Liam; hair dye and beer from the girls; a Derby snapback and jumper from Zayn.

“Ooh, let’s read the card. It’d better be good,” Jesy says, danger tinting her tone.

“Not aloud,” Zayn groans, sulking off for another beer.

“Come on,” Jade begs. “I bet it’s cute.”

Niall shakes his head. “ _Private_ ,” he insists, scuttling off to the bathroom and opening it there.

Zayn has such slender handwriting, the kind that people scribble onto pad paper when they’re taking notes in class, except this writing is fuller, neater than his usual scrawl. It starts with, “ _Niall_ ,” and goes onto, “ _Happy birthday, love :) x_ ” and says thinks like, “ _You once told me that you didn’t have any experience, and it took being with you to teach me that I didn’t, either, and it makes me so happy that I got to learn these things with you,_ ” and ends with, “ _I love you. I hope this has been a great birthday_.”

Zayn’s name is penned onto the very edge of the card, squeezed in with barely enough room for the two kisses. Niall carefully slips the card back into its envelope, assuring Zayn with a smile that it’s perfect, everything’s perfect.

They watch _Scary Movie_ first, then _Shaun of the Dead_ , and finally, _Hot Fuzz_. Between the films—which are nothing short of a ten out of ten—and the booze they’re downing, Niall is having a great time. Everything’s great. His mum is creating an almighty fuss but here, now, life is good. He loves Zayn, Zayn loves him, he loves his friends, they love him, and so on.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall gets the sofa bed, because—duh—it’s his birthday. Zayn snuggles up beside him. Everyone else finds their places on blowup mattresses with no complaints, paired off and sleeping soundly just a little before 3am.

Zayn is drunk and cuddly, mumbling, “I love you, Niall,” into his pillow, sprawled on top of Niall in Iron Man pyjamas.

“Love you too, Zaynie,” Niall grins.

Zayn opens his eyes. “Really love you. Please stay,” he whispers.

“Where am I going?” Niall asks. He hopes nobody else is awake.

“What if… you like your mum’s place better? Don’t leave us. We love you,” Zayn whimpers.

“Fuck’s sake, you’re so drunk,” Niall snorts. “I’m not leaving you. Staying right where I am.”

“Promise?” Zayn pouts.

“Promise. Go to sleep,” Niall nods.

He lets Zayn curl up to his chest, minty smell of toothpaste not quite overpowering the alcohol. Zayn says, “Okay, baby. Love you.”

“I love you, too, now shh,” Niall insists.

“Love you,” Zayn replies, nodding off with some huffy little breaths into Niall’s tee shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
